


Weak Spot

by BoatsandTrains



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not between Sam and Dean), AU, Age Difference, Bottom!Sam, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Role-Reversal, Slow Build, mentioned Sam/Brady, mututal pining, older!Sam/younger!Dean, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoatsandTrains/pseuds/BoatsandTrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has been in love with his older brother since he knew how to say his name. What he didn't realize was that as he grew, so did the kind of love, and it leaves him aching for what he thinks Sam might be wanting too. Poking and prodding it out of his brother might be working, but will it pay off? And can it last in a town where everyone knows their name?</p><p>"Sammy, all I'm saying is you're my weak spot. You are. And I'm yours."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Side character death (Mary & John)

Sam was nine when the fire took their home. Dean was two.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can—don't look back. Now, Sam, go!"

Those were the last words John Winchester said to him before handing a squirming Dean to Sam and running back for Mary. Sam's gangly legs carrying him down the stairs, the air hot, scorching his lungs as he covered Dean's nose and mouth with a blanket as he cried, confused and lost and Sam could only mutter "Gonna be ok, Dean, got you-" through chapped lips. The sound of sirens pierced the silent night with their wail as he pushed through the front door and ran across the lawn, gasping. He turned back, waiting, holding Dean tight in his arms. He waited. Their dad would come out of the house with their mom in tow and maybe it's a little close, but everyone would be safe as their home collapsed into cinders.

The siren's wail crescendoed in Sam's ears, seeming to follow the way the flames climbed, reaching their own peak before the inevitable crash, the roof collapsing in a burst of sparks. He felt himself cry out, for his mom, for his dad, but there was no answer, just the pull of large hands as men in fluorescent jackets rushed past him. Even in his adolescent mind he knew there was nothing left. He felt like he was watching a movie, someone's house was burning, someone's parents were trapped inside. Whose house was that? Whose parents were dead?

He didn't register the blanket around his shoulders and the arms lifting him to sit on the back of the ambulance until someone tried to take Dean from his arms and Sam resisted, eyes finally snapping away from the glow of the flames to the face of a stranger, arms tightening around Dean, refusing to let go. The EMT conceded and checked Dean over while he sat in Sam's lap, arms secure around his little brother.

They were all they had left. Dean was all he had left.

"We're gonna be ok, Dean, promise," Sam whispered, tears sliding unbidden down his cheeks, Dean's little hands finding his neck and sliding back to hug him tight as Sam held his brother's little body, promising him silently that he would be sure of it.

 

* * *

  

The funeral was small, held outside as the sun started to set behind the trees along the cemetery gates, casting long shadows in rows like the rest of the dead had decided to show up for their parents' burials.

The caskets were closed, Sam and Dean seated closest to the polished wood.

Sam didn't remember most of it, only remembered telling Dean he had to keep his suit on, just for a couple more minutes.

 

* * *

 

That was the summer they moved in with Bobby and Ellen, all the way from their hometown of Lawrence, Kansas to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Sam had never actually met them, apparently they were their godparents, and when Bobby first laid eyes on them he had barely said a word but a gruff "You father was a good friend" before walking back into the house. He had struck Sam as very sad, but Ellen had apologized for his behavior and had pulled both boys right into her arms and given them a long hard hug.

"You're family now, boys, Bobby's just doin' some internal reminiscing," she turned her eyes to Sam with a mix of sadness and something else, "Sees your dad in you, no doubt."

Sam didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but he followed Ellen into the house, tugging Dean along behind him into the house.

"This'll be your room, you'll have to share a bed for a little while before we get another one in here. It was a guest room, so we got a twin, but you're both growing boys-"

"It's alright," Sam said, and Ellen looked surprised, which made sense, it was the first thing he had said to her other than a soft greeting when the social services woman, Naomi or something, had dropped them off at the Singers' house-slash-junk-yard, "Me n' Dean can share, right Dean?"

"Uh huh, Sam," Dean's small voice piped up from next to him and Sam felt a pang shoot through him. Dean had lost his parents and he still didn't understand what that meant. Ellen looked a moment away from crying and nodded wordlessly, leaving them to their room.

Sam crawled up into the bed, lifting Dean up after him and holding him close.

"Momma?" Dean's small, childish and oh so innocent voice asked, confused eyes locked on to Sam's face and he couldn't crumble, couldn't cry, but his shoulders were shaking with the effort.

"She's not coming home, Dean, but you've got me, ok?" Sam said, his voice choked as he tucked Dean's head under his chin, "And I've got you."

 

* * *

  

Sam is thirteen and Dean is four when the Winchester home was raised from the grave.

"They finished reconstruction today," Bobby said in greeting as Sam walked into the house behind Ellen, Dean tottering up to him and smiling big.

"Are we gonna be able to go see it?" Sam asked, kneeling down and letting Dean climb into his arms, lifting him with a woosh of breath at the exertion, "Dean, you're kinda big for this."

Dean made a noise of absolute protest and stuck his fingers in Sam's hair, making him wince slightly, the tiny hand getting gentler when he saw.

"It's your house, kid, we can head out after you get outta school Friday, be there in at least six hours, be back before nightfall on Saturday," Bobby said conversationally.

Sam felt a smile spread across his face and he turned to look at Dean, his own little face splitting into a joyful grin.

"You hear that? We get to go home, Dean, gonna see the house again," he said softly, his fingers wrapped around Dean's little wrist, dancing with him across the dining room and into the living room.

 

* * *

 

Sam was eighteen, freshly graduated from high school in Sioux Falls. Dean was eleven, just out of grade school.

That summer he and Dean moved back into their house, promised to him in his parents' will, under Bobby's name until Sam reached the legal age of adulthood. Insurance had covered the house with little to no extra costs. They had been able to get some furniture, but not one of the members of their family was versed in interior decorating, so Sam left it at functional, and Ellen promised to send things from home, brought along the blankets and things they had grown up with.

Sam always had the intention of coming back here, ever since he learned that the house was going to be rebuilt, that it was his. He was going to take Dean back to their home, show him where he was born, let him grow up with a big yard with the willow in the front, hopefully regrown, and the hidden trails behind the house in the woods around the town.

Ellen and Bobby had never doubted Sam's resolve, hadn't made fun of him when he had announced his plan only a half a year after they had moved in with them.

It hadn't stopped Bobby from playing devil's advocate with him for a little under seven years, asking how he'd take care of Dean, pay for it all.

Sam had taken jobs as soon as someone would hire him, never spent a penny, made sure he had a job interview set up before he ever even moved in. He hadn't had to pay a cent for college, full ride to the college close to Lawrence. He had been accepted to Harvard, but he hid the letter, didn't want Dean to feel bad that he didn't chose there because he wanted to take Dean back home. He had everything covered.

He would take care of Dean, he always would.

"You better expect we'll visit, and don't listen to old crotchety, we'll send you some grocery money, Dean's still technically under our charge, and you're still our family, Sam."

"Thank you, Ellen," Sam said as the woman pulled him into a tight hug.

"Don't be a stranger, kid," Bobby said from his wheelchair, boxing Sam over the head affectionately as he gave him a hug.  
  
Sam took a few steps back, suddenly colliding with a shorter body as Dean wrapped his arms tight around his lean torso, peeking his head from around Sam's body to look at Bobby and Ellen like they might change their minds and suddenly decide Dean was too young, he should come back with them.

"Relax Dean," Sam said softly, letting his hand rest on Dean's soft caramel hair, "They aren't going to take you."

Dean eased visibly before slowly nodding, but he didn't let go of Sam, instead trading his torso for his hand instead, fingers lacing with his. Dean was a tactile child, but when it came to him it increased tenfold. Sam indulged too easily, maybe.

 

* * *

 

Being alone in the house—and by 'alone' he meant 'with Dean' because Dean wasn't so much another person but an extension of himself—was odd at first. Sam took the tour, the house was smaller than even the memories he formed when he was thirteen visiting for the weekend suggested, and it still had the feeling of being the house he lived in for nine years, yet it was still completely foreign.

Sam wondered if that was the main reason he was so ok with moving back into this house, even after the fire that killed his parents had cooled. It wasn't the same house, the reconstructed figment of his memory, a blank canvas, ready to start over. So that's what Sam was going to do: start over.

He spend the first week with Dean, going in and out of rooms and out in the backyard, wandering into the woods and to the creek and back, re-familiarizing themselves with what had used to be second nature. Dean was able to meet some of the neighborhood kids he would have been friends with if they would have stayed, but they didn't last long, Dean ditching them to hang out with his big brother. Sam couldn't say he minded, only that he was worried about Dean when he was at work. He had found a decent enough paying job as a secretary and he knew it would be a good fit on his resume when he applied for internships in law firms.

They were happy for the most part, for that first summer.


	2. The Wrestling Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is eleven and life is confusing.

Dean doesn't remember much of anything that isn't before Sam, his memories of his mom and dad are restricted to the few pictures he had seen.  
As far as Dean is concerned, his family is the Singers and Sam.  
Sam being the highest peak and deepest ocean of that tie.  
  
So instead of memories of his mom crossing streets with him and taking him to picnics or whatever it is people's moms do, for Dean, it's Sam. It's Sam who teaches him to tie his shoes. It's Sam who makes him macaroni and cheese with hot dogs (sometimes Sam is sneaky and put broccoli in it and Dean definitely isn't a fan of that). Dean, for as long as he can remember, has started and ended his days with his older brother. Bobby and Ellen can tell him what to do, but nothing comes before Sam.  
  
Uncle Bobby and Auntie Ellen make fun of them for it, he never got it. 

* * *

 

Dean is seven when he decides he's gunna marry Sam. He says as much, flat out, "Sammy, you can't marry anyone else. Im marrying you, okay? Just you and me." It's filled with that arrogance only a seven old can use and demand. He got a 25¢ ring from the machine in the grocery store and everything.  
  
Sam looks at him puzzled before only smiling and accepting the ring. Dean thinks Sam doesn't get it, maybe Dean is too young? Sam doesn't believe him? The fact Sam takes the ring makes him think he'll just have to try asking again when he's older. He's pretty sure that machine will still be there when he's bigger.

By eleven Dean knows the marriage thing was a baby thing to do. For him, all he cares about is that he and Sam are always going to have each other. He doesn't really over think it. SAMs his brother and his best friend and his favorite person. When Sam asks about moving, Dean doesn't think. "No way I'm staying with Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby if you leave. I can't live on dry meat loaf." A bluff. Mostly it's because he can't imagine Sam not being close, not that Sam would leave him. 'Sam and Dean' is a title they live up to.

* * *

 

"Sammy." Dean dropped his bag unceremoniously onto the kitchen floor as he got home, walking through the back door.

Sam, as usual, is studying at the kitchen counter—if he wasn't then he was making some sort of nasty vegetable slop he'll coerce dean into eating with dinner.

"Sammmmmyyy--" Dean repeats, getting on his tip toes to lean on the counter.  
"Can I join wrestling?"

Before his older brother can kill his fun and oppose, he takes some standard 'Debating with Sammy 101' he's learned from watching Sam practice for his fancy lawyer classes--

"I promise to be super safe, and the coach said that the high school has a team so if I'm good I can keep at it," Dean recited.

Sam mouth opens and dean decides to go for the kill, "Plus-- you always tell me I should put energy or whatever into something- it'll be _good_ for me, Sammy! And I'll get strong too! Don't worry, I won't beat you up." The younger Winchester grinned, "Much. I might even let ya win."  
  
Sam groaned internally, he should have known this was going to be something as soon as he heard Dean use that tone. That tone meant Dean wanted something and came absolutely prepared to get it. The way Dean leaned eagerly against the counter next to him belied his intentions, any other day Dean would be pestering him, generally getting in his way on purpose but he had started out docile and unassuming. Now, Sam was left a bit shell shocked by the sheer amount of force and information Dean put into this, blinking a few times and shaking his head before turning and leaning a hip against the counter.

"Dean, I thought you didn't like school sports? To be honest, I was sure you hated every other kid at your school," Sam said, running a hand through his hair to push the stray ones back from his face as he spoke, eyes on Dean's rather proud looking face, "Not to mention, does the school provide equipment? I can only afford so much, Dean, we only get by living here because Ellen and Bobby help pay the taxes, because a secretary can't afford it all."

Sam didn't want to let Dean down, not at all, but if they were going to survive, he had to be strict with how their finances were run.

"Besides, how do I know this isn't some sort of outlet for you to beat the ever loving crap out of some other kid," Sam said with a slow sigh, already remembering the fights Dean got into within weeks of being in Lawrence in order to exert his dominance over the streets.

"I don't know if it'll be a good idea, is all," Sam said softly, crossing his arms, eyes tracking over Dean's expression, analyzing how big the resistance was going to be.

Dean stills, half cocked for a retort till the money point hits him and immediately he starts to deflate.

He wishes he were old enough so he could help work. He hadn't thought about much of it, more excited because the coach had pulled him over specifically after their fitness test. He thinks Coach Sonny mentioned a fee for school equipment, but maybe this was a dumb idea.

Dean remembers vaguely about what Sam is talking about. Gordon and his choads. After the trouble they got into, Dean and that kid still aren't allowed alone in the same room at school anymore.

"That was different, Sammy," Dean can't help the weak cocky smirk he gets, the memory was something he still thought was funny—how many ten year olds get to say they trash canned a thirteen year year old? He's awesome!

Sam makes a noise in his throat, shaking his head, sighing. He had been called in on that one and Dean can't look back at it and be anything but proud. Like being grounded and getting detention for it were totally worth it. Not a good way to start the sixth grade.

Deans eyes drop anxiously, "Well, what if I got a job? I could help pay- and you won't have to? Maybe Ellen and Bobby have chores? I'm good at chores." A quick glance at the sink and he winces a little, "Man chores anyway, like painting fences and helping bobby in the yard—not _dishes_ , Sam."  
  
Sam's gut twisted with guilt as Dean started to list things he could do to help Sam for money, which was the last thing he wanted him to be worried about. Sam wanted Dean here with him, had promised Ellen and Bobby, swore up and down that he could take care of his little brother, and that meant finances.  
  
He managed to huff a laugh and shook his head, turning fully to look at his brother, reaching out to ruffle the short spikes, still puppy soft.  
  
"Ok, little man, I think theres enough in your savings to get you into this, if that's what you really want," Sam said, knowing Dean had probably well more than enough, considering Sam rationed Dean's spending money and kept what he didn't give Dean in a special savings account for things like these. But Dean needed to be serious about it, because he didn't want to waste it on something Dean would decide to quit, "You have to promise me though, Dean, that you won't cause trouble and treat this like the real deal, ok? I really don't want a repeat of your foray into lacrosse."

"I'm not that little, Sam. I'm going to out grow you, just wait. Uncle Bobby says I should get a growth spurt," Dean snipped, getting off the counter to cross to the fridge. He's playing it cool but he can't hide the bounce in his step.

"Lacrosse was boring anyway." Best excuse he can think of, pulling out the milk and opening the cap, kicking the door shut.

That it was acceptable to check another player in lacrosse should have been Sam's indication that it was not a good idea to let Dean near the sport. Green eyes look up at Sam after he pours himself a glass and puts it back.

"I uh...I really like it. I got to do a little in fitness and Coach Sonny said he was impressed," Dean mumbles through his milk glass, a little flushed, "Of course it's because I'm _awesome_." He plasters on his cocky smirk, far more comfortable being arrogant than happy.  
  
Sam watched Dean all but strut from the kitchen, lips curling up and snorting a laugh through his nose.

* * *

Sam had discreetly called the school and spoken with Coach Sonny about the wrestling team, crunching numbers between classes and figuring out how he could make this work for Dean. Luckily, he had saved more than enough.

Despite how he sounded, Sam wanted Dean to have this. It would be good for him and by the way he talked about Sonny's praise, he really looked up to the man. Dean needed this and Sam was going to make it happen.

"He's a good kid, " Sonny's deep voice rasped through the phone. Sam was pretty sure he liked this Sonny guy, especially with the way he talked about Dean, like he saw through the arrogant front as easily as Sam could. Dean needed more people who could do that.

"Yeah, I know he is," Sam said, looking down at his feet and holding the phone to his ear, "Listen...thank you, for doing this for Dean, it means a lot to him, even if he doesn't show it...it means a lot to me, too."

"No problem Sam, besides, the kid has potential," Sonny laugh is low and rich, "And it's a good outlet for his temper, you might say."

They talk for a few more minutes before Sam has to leave for class, thanking Sonny again and hanging up. 

* * *

One of the reasons Dean doesn't like having friends over is because he doesn't like to share. Sam's friends are okay, he guessed. They make Sam happy so Dean can't complain. He hates having to fight for attention though.

He both likes and dislikes Jessica Moore. She's super cool and nice but she touches Sam too much. Sam says they're just friends, that Jessica, he and Kevin are all best friends.

Sam is Dean's only best friend so of course he doesn't get it.

It's probably at eleven that he starts to notice the difference in how Dean feels strongly about Sam, but Sam doesn't have the same kind of strength.  
Sam shares, Dean hates that.  
Dean liked to hope it's a grown up thing and when he's older it won't make him feel itchy and irritable everytime they have a movie night and Dean has to go to bed.

* * *

 

"Sam is pretty cool," Garth says one day, Sam driving away after dropping them off. They carpool sometimes, Garth lived a couple streets over. Benny sometimes got a ride too, but Dean guessed today is a Garth day. Garth is a little weird. Nice, but weird. He can't punch him because Sam would be mad, but also because he actually thinks he'd feel bad, the kid is a twig.

"Obviously," Dean snorts, walking through the school gates as Garth keeps up.

"I wish I had a older brother. I bet he knows a lot," Garth chatters away.

"Who knows what?" Benny joins the pack, Dean really doesn't know where he keeps growing people that talk to him. He doesn't like telling the kids about Sam because Sam is his.

Adults are different—he tells teachers all the time about how cool Sam is, but he doesn't like the other kids too much.

"Sam Winchester," Garth pipes.

"Bet he knows a lot about girls," Benny grins and Dean looks at him weird.

"Ooooo-- I bet he does!--"

"No he doesn't," Dean says, defiant, "Girls are gross anyway."

"It's cause you're a little kid still," Benny laughs, "I grew four inches over break. I'm a man. Trust me, Dean, girls aren't gross."

"What do you do with them? They are total babies," Deans nose wrinkles, Garth laughing.

"You kiss them and stuff. I see it on TV. Everyone does it." Garth explains.

Dean's not dumb, he knows boys kiss girls but it's weird to think about himself doing it. Or Sam.

"Ask him," Benny prompts.

* * *

"Sam," Dean gets home, dropping himself into the couch and flicking the tv on.

Sam's drinking tea and wielding a highlighter doing more nerd work. Something about not being able to score less than a ninety-five on it.

"Do you know how to kiss a girl?" Dean asks, not looking away from the TV.

Sam looked up at the sound of his brother's voice and choked slightly, closing his eyes and breathing until he could turn his gaze back to his brother who had dropped himself on the couch next to him, flipping the tv on like he hadn't just asked what he did. 

"Why... are you asking?" Sam said slowly, eyes narrowing on his brother, "Is there... some girl you want to kiss?"

Sam knew it was going to happen one day, Dean was handsome even for a kid, and there was no way he wouldn't charm the girls the minute he stepped into the middle school's hallways. It was a weird, vaguely uncomfortable thought, if he was honest with himself. He always had all of Dean's attention, but there was the chance now that he would want to give it to someone else.

Dean shrugged, more interested in if Sam actually did kiss girls or if Benny should mind his own business.

"Just curious," he looked over at his brother, "Benny says it's what boys are suppose to do. Do you? Kiss girls?" To his memory, dean has never seen Sam kiss anyone, not like the movies.

He went on 'dates' in high school and sometimes on weekends. Dean couldn't remember the last one, it had been a while. But he can't remember Sam ever introducing or bringing anyone into the house.

What a great time for Sam to try to explain the birds and the bees and the bees that only like bees.

"I have kissed girls," Sam said, and it was the truth, he had kissed Sarah Blake in freshman year of high school. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't anything exciting. She got her lipstick on his lips and she had been so soft he felt like he might break her.

And then he started kissing boys instead. Liked how much sturdier they were, how they could grip him back, firm and insistent and tasted ten time better than Sarah Blake's lipgloss.

But how do you explain that to your little brother just now asking about girls?

"You know... boys don't always just kiss girls. They don't _have_ to," Sam explained slowly, measured tone, but he's trying to make it sound casual.

Dean is starring at Sam now. He knows that tone, it's the one Sam uses when he's saying something he doesn't know if Dean should know yet. Slow and a little careful, like when he asked him if he wants to go see mom and dad at the cemetery or when he used to asked what happened.

"-They kiss boys too."

Dean furrowed his brows, knowing he hadn't heard Benny and Kevin really talk about that.

The furrowed brow was enough of an indicator that Sam had started to tread into dangerous waters. He was a believer in equality, obviously, and thought children should be taught the importance of it from a young age, but this was Dean's first real exposure to it and really it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't the fact that they were talking about Sam's own opinions and experiences. He didn't really want to share his "locker room stories" with his little brother.

"You kiss both? Which ones better?" He doesn't know why he feels a little annoyed at Sam. When was Sam kissing all these jerk offs and why doesn't dean know about that? He can't imagine anyone kissing Sam like in the movies, or Sam kissing someone—it's just- it's _Sammy_ -  _his_ Sammy.

And there it was. Sam chewed his lip, trying to gauge Dean's reactions, slightly perplexed at the way he seemed to have gotten a little testy.

"I.. have kissed both, yes," Sam said, trying to think his way out of the corner he had backed himself into, "Neither gender is better than the other, Dean, it's about the person. A girl could be a great kisser but that won't matter if you personally like boys."

Sam wondered if that would even really appease his brother, because if there was anyone who had a penchant for finding out his personal life, it was Dean. He wasn't hiding it from him, but he had never found a reason to reveal it. Besides, it felt like he was tearing his heart out to watch his brother's face any time he had to turn him down. So he told him he had something important to do, and he always made it up to him after, he made sure of it.

"You really don't have to worry about it yet, Dean, you're only eleven," Sam said, trying to dismiss Dean's worries.

Only eleven. Just like that Dean felt himself bristle.

"I'm not a baby-" he got up from the couch, throwing the remote down not so gently, "You don't have to treat me like I'm stupid." He didn't get why he was mad exactly. He hurt a little. Like Sam was off living some secret life on his own. Was Dean in the way? Of course he was, he was the dumb little baby brother blocking Sam from making out with strangers.  
Who the hell was is that got to touch Sam anyway? Kids in his class? Work? and Sam just let them? Did he like them?

Sam let out a breath, steeling himself for the outburst. He didn't even understand what Dean was getting so upset about, but he knew this was about to snowball.

"Dean- don't throw the remote-"

Dean felt his face flush hot, working himself up.

What if Sam didn't tell him because he _did_ like them? Sam wanted to leave? No more Sam and Dean.  
He knew Sam wasn't going to marry him, he knew that they were brothers and it didn't work like that- but Sam is _his_. He can't just let some person come along and kiss Sam and take him away.

"So who do you like then?" He spat out, "Or am I too little to talk to? Why don't you just go away with them or something." He turned running up the stairs, wanting to punch something, "STUPID SAMANTHA-" Dean slammed his door.

He flinched when he heard Dean stomp up the stairs and slam his door with enough force to be heard clearly through the house. His first reaction was to yell at Dean for being careless with the house, but he had to take a breath and think about this.

This wasn't how he envisioned his coming out conversation to his brother at all, but it had clearly turned into something else entirely. Dean was afraid of him leaving and the thought of Sam in some sort of relationship turned his world upside down.

Sam let out a long breath and slid his hands through his hair.  
Dean thought he would leave him if he found someone to be with.

He had to fix this, he couldn't let his little brother think something would pull them apart that easily. After all, didn't they move ally he way here to be together in their home?

He waited for a little while first, let Dean calm down before heading upstairs and standing in front of Dean's door.

"Dean?" he called softly, rapping his knuckles against the door softly. When there was no answer Sam sighed and turned, letting his back slide against the door until he was sitting on the floor.

"Dean, I don't know what I said that made you think it, but I'm not going to leave you," Sam said, knowing Dean was probably listening through the door, too obstinate just open it and talk to him—he was eleven, it was expected—so Sam kept going, crossing his arms over his knees, "I've dated some people, yeah, but Dean, you're the most important thing to me, I'm never going to replace you."

Dean is sitting against his bed staring at the door, sniffling a little as he glares at it. Like hell he's going to go out there. He'd rather starve. Sam can still where the sun don't shine- he freezes when Sam's shadow settled under his door, waiting. He gave himself a good minute before getting up to pull the door open, looking down at his huge older brother sitting on the floor. He rubbed his face free of moisture, glaring at him moodily.

It caught Sam off guard, almost falling right back into his little brother. His tilted his head back and looked up at Dean, seeing the telltale signs of tears and instantly felt horrible.

"You promise?"

Sam scooted to the doorframe and patted the floor next to him, waiting until Dean was seated to wrap his arm around his brother's shoulders and pull him into his side.

"I promise, Dean," Sam said softly, rustling his hair gently, "You're my number one, aren't you? I need you."

"Yea, right." Dean snorted, but curled into SAMs side," till some girl like Jessica Moore comes around." He rolled his eyes before cautiously looking up," is that....is it Jess?"

Jess was cool. He liked her. She was nice and fun and watched starwars with him sometimes. Which was weird because he liked Jess just fine but he didn't like how close she would sit with Sam. He didn't like how close anyone sat by Sam.

Was it always going to be that way? Was he always going to feel sick when Sam was with dates or whatever?

Sam could have snorted because it felt like he had dropped enough hints that he had definitely kissed boys, but he had obviously been too subtle.

"What? No- I'm not dating anyone, Dean, and especially not Jess... remember what we were talking about?" Sam asked, meeting his brother's imploring gaze, "That boys sometimes liked to kiss other boys instead?"

He was hoping maybe that would be enough for Dean to understand what he was saying, really hoping he wouldn't have to come out and just say 'Dean I am a homosexual male and that means I kiss men' because that didn't sound like it would go over well.

Dean stared up at Sam, "So you think boys are better kissers?" He said slow, his eyes looking at SAMs mouth for a second, curious.

He hadn't kissed people, it seemed gross. But Sam wasn't gross. Sam was pretty much good at everything. He probably was the best kisser ever, better then some random kid at school or those girls in Benny's magazine. He looked back at SAMs eyes.

Sam was having a hard time trying to answer him. He was just a kid, kids should't have to worry about sexuality or kissing just because some over glorified magazine said so. He glanced down at Dean and tried to remember if he was this way at eleven, but Sam remembered his childhood really only consisting of Dean, and boys hadn't crossed his mind until at least high school.

"I-" Sam struggled for a minute, trying to find the words before he realized how long this discussion might go on if he keeps trying to dance around it, "Yes, I think boy are better kissers."

He had not even the slightest clue as to how Dean would respond to that.

"Oh."

He thought a moment, green eyes studying Sam, "When will I know? How do I know which one I like better?" He sat up, turning to Sam, "I don't have to kiss a girl, do I?" He frowned at the thought. "Did you know before or you had to kiss them first?"

Oh boy, this was _really_ not the conversation Sam wanted to be having.

"Not everyone is the same," Sam said slowly, and what a way to spend an afternoon, sitting on the ground with your arm around your little brother, discussing sexuality, "Maybe you'll know before, maybe you'll have to find out. No specific time either, if you don't want to kiss anyone right now, then you don't have to."

Dean's face clearly showed he had no interest in kissing a girl, and Sam felt oddly relieved. He wasn't quite sure what he would think if Dean decided he wanted to kiss boys, but his general dislike of the subject had him thinking it wouldn't be a problem for a while.

"Do you want to make s'mores on the stove tonight? I still have some left over from the last time we did it, and the graham crackers shouldn't be stale... and it they are we can just make marshmallow chocolate sandwiches anyways," Sam suggested, offering Dean's troubled mind a reprieve. He was a kid and he should be able to live like one.

Four s'mores later and some weird stew thing with more carrots in it then Dean found really necessary, the topic was mostly forgotten. If Sam didn't think it was important it probably wasn't.

Boys like girls but sometimes they don't. He wondered if girls were the same but he could always ask Sam some other time.

* * *

"That's weird," Benny frowned at Dean.

"Kissing is weird anyway," Dean said as he bit into his peanut butter sandwich.

"Yea but, boys don't really...I mean I have a cousin, they call it 'gay'," Benny said thoughtfully, "My parents are okay with it. I think my Uncle Russ is pretty mad. Lotta people don't like it."

Dean sipped his Hi-C, thinking about if anyone they knew would care. He didn't think Uncle Bobby or Ellen would care. Dean didn't care. "Why is it a bad thing?"

"I don't know. Grownups say a lot of things. I guess. I mean, I still think it's weird. You're my friend and all, but I wouldn't wanna kiss you. Bella in English though? I'd kiss her," Benny grinned. Dean rolled his eyes, a little bothered at the idea of kissing Benny. Equally gross.

Maybe he was more of a baby then the other kids.

At least he had Sammy and that's all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 2! Still working through some more growing up fluff, hope you enjoyed it! This is the first time we've ever edited together rp responses, and it's definitely hard.
> 
> Thanks again for sticking with!


	3. Chapter 3

At thirteen, Dean makes a few more friends. He's very good at the wrestling team, and next year he'll be in high school. The whole boy and girl thing still makes very little sense, so he makes up his mind. He kisses a girl.

"Dean, this is stupid. Why don't you kiss one of the girls that's always got a crush on you?" Charlie, one of his new best friends, besides Garth and Benny, shook her head, arms crossed.

"Because I want to know, and I don't want everyone and their mom to know," Dean groaned.

"You know I like girls though," Charlie spoke slow, like he was a idiot.

"Yea, well, kinda the point," Dean said sarcastically, "Look, all I know is if I do this with you, you won't tell anyone."

"What do I get out of it?"

"Please, Char? Pleeasseeee? I want to know before I get to high school, and no one knows about this but you," Dean gripped her shoulders, "Please Number 1?"

Charlie thought carefully before groaning, "I hate when you use Trek on me. Dude, if you think you have it for guys this won't help you."

"I don't know what 'it' is, damn it-"

"Okay okay--"

When they kiss it's soft and pleasant and just a second long enough. It's not bad. It's pleasant. He doesn't hate it.

"Okay? Happy? What's the verdict?"

He doesn't love it. Not like Benny and the guys talk about making out. It's not right.

"I don't know."

* * *

Sam is twenty when Dean brings the dreaded topic back up.

"Sam," Dean sets his book at down carefully, uneasy. This is probably the weirdest thing he's ever done and the chances of it back firing seem pretty steep.

Sam is sitting with his computer on the couch, beer in his free hand, looking up at the sound of Dean's tone. The tone that immediately told him Dean wanted to ask him something. He set his computer down on the coffee table, as Dean stops in front of him on the couch, looking anxious. He's grown a full six inches since he started Junior High but he's still no where near Sam's height, just about Sams chest and still lanky. He was getting taller every day, it seemed, like his whole body was stretching, but for a middle schooler Dean packed more muscle than most that he had seen. Wrestling was doing the younger Winchester wonders, landing the semi-finals when he was only twelve and making Coach Sonny and himself so proud they could burst.

Yet, right now, Sam was apprehensive.

"Do uh....crap," Dean groans, then catches himself, "I mean darn." He clarifies at Sam's raised brow, "So you remember when you tried to tell me about kissing and stuff and you pretty much said you were gay—don't look so surprised, Benny told me—and we never talked about it again?"

Jesus christ. He didn't know what to expect, but it really wasn't that. Dean knew he was gay? He hadn't ever really said it out loud and he never brought home any of the guys he ended up with after Jess's parties. He should have known this Benny kid would have figured it out, and god damn him for sending Dean home twice with questions Sam never had good answers for.

"I mean...yes," Sam said slowly, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, "...why?"

"Okay." Dean rolled around in his head with the best course of action here, because no way was Sam going to just jump up for this, but he needed to know.

Girls were okay, he wanted to try kissing a boy and as far as he can tell the only guy that he could even think of kissing is Sam. Even if he's only thirteen he knows that's not normal. Dean's not normal. Maybe he can start out with a guilt trip—Sam's a sucker for a good sob story. Tell him that he's the older brother and Dean doesn't want to do this with some creepy random guy. He thinks that would work, but he doesn't want to go that route. Selfishly, he doesn't want Sam to feel tricked or guilted into this. Taking it from Sammy he can do—manipulating him? He can't.

He can't just say it, either, because he's not stupid and he can already tell this is different from Charlie. With Charlie it was just an act, but at the moment he can hear his pulse in his ears and feel it in his fingertips and he hasn't even done anything yet. It's some sort of adrenaline rush or something, but it's just for Sam.

There are two parts to this, one being that it's just nerves, but the other—even to thirteen year old dean—can read this as 'because you want it'. He's not stupid, and he knows being gay is something a lot of people don't like, but being gay for your brother? He doesn't really know. It feels a little over whelming and he can't be sure until he does this. One step at a time, deal with what ever comes after.

"Okay," He says again before leaning down, both his hands on either side of the chair as he leans into Sam's face.  
He doesn't want there to be enough time for him to overthink and react to Dean before he can get his answer, so he just closes the space, eyes falling closed as he pressed his mouth to Sam's.

It's not filthy or using tongue, or over powering. It's soft and pressed, Dean opening his mouth to bite Sam's lip before pulling away.

As far as kisses go, it's innocent. The worst part being the nip before he pulled away. He doesn't know much about kissing aside from theories and Charlie, but he knows that wasn't sloppy or terrible. Obviously it wasn't for brothers either.

"Okay." He repeats in a exhale, pulling away from Sam with green eyes bouncing between Sam's hazel. He can't explain Sam's face only that he looks like he's short circuited and Dean doesn't want to be here when he comes back on line.

Solid weight dropped in his stomach, Dean has never known fear like the thought of Sam lashing out about this—especially when Dean's just starting to figure this out—so he does what he does best and avoids the 'talking about feelings' thing.

Dean pulled his hand back, slapping Sam's shoulder, "Awesome. Good talk Sammy. Good talk." And just like that, he makes a break for it, grabbing his bag and heading for his room in a perfect act of nonchalance.

* * *

"Okay."

Okay? What was that supposed to mean? He remembered, so this was when Dean was supposed to ask his deeply invasive question about his personal life or some complicated sexuality question. What he was not supposed to do was lean down in front of him and press their lips together.

First. instinct, eyes close, press back. 

Second. Realization, eyes open, frozen.

Third. Blankness, absolute brain shortage.

Dean nipped his bottom lip with his teeth and pulled away, leaving his much older and yet much less calm brother sitting still in his seat.

"Okay. Awesome. Good talk, Sammy. Good talk."

No. No, not okay. Dean had just kissed him and he was pretty sure that was _not okay_. Sam had no words as Dean slapped his shoulder, pushed back and was gone.

What the hell?

No, seriously. What the actual hell? Did Dean just try to see if he was gay or not by kissing him? It was the only solution he could come up with, considering that conversation they had the first time. But that was two _years_ ago, had it really stuck in Dean's head for that long?

Sam let out the long breath he had held the entire time Dean's lips had been on his and dropped his head into his hands.

What the fuck.

* * *

It's a very vivid sensation in his memory, when he lines up kissing other people and that one dorky kiss with Sam.

For a small second, initially, he could've swore Sam was going to kiss him back before he turned rigid. Dean expected the second part. The first part was what was messing with him. It made his whole body warm and floaty. So many things happening and all Dean can process as he remembers the feel of Sam's thin, soft lips against his is that he was royally fucked.

The next day he gets up, complains to Sam about his tofu in the fridge and demands more bacon in their diet and goes to school his normal grumpy self. He's determined to not let Sam know how he may feel and more so not talk about it. He doesn't want to stress Sam out and he doesn't really know what's wrong with him in the first place.

He does this everyday from then on. Only one real rule: _don't tell Sammy._

* * *

Benny starts to come over on occasion. Dean gets the feeling Sam isn't so gun-ho about him. It's one thing to carpool a kid, another to watch him hang around when you know he's the one teaching Dean the ins and outs of boys and girls.

Fourteen and a freshman, Dean makes it onto the high school's JV wrestling team, another growth spurt, and puberty is hitting him. He hates how his voice jumps pitches, he glares at Sam every time his older brother snorts at him.

"Shut up Sam _antha_ -" Dean snaps, tone shifting mid yell and only making Sam buckle more, Kevin and Jess shaking there heads with amused smiles. "I hate you all, pricks," Dean grumbled, stomping off.

Joke is on Sam though, Dean eats like a viking.

"Vikings need meat, Sam. I have to eat rabbit, not rabbit food. Loads and loads of rabbit. I plan on breaking the gates of Valhalla. Where's the steak?"

Sam still gives him salad. He still hates it. But he forgives him because Sam gives him ham slices to put in it, and when he cooks he hums songs to keep time. And he dances a little. Dean tries not to think about it because he's been hard core ignoring his hormones over Sam all year, but he's just cute. It's weird because Sam is older, but Dean doesn't know how else to explain how Sam sings the Beatles when he makes stew or how he recites law definitions when he's baking to keep count.

He's a total nerd and he tucks his hair behind his ear even when it won't stay and Dean wants to touch it all the time. And when Sam bends over, Dean knew he was going to hell because more than once a day he has to bail on brother stuff to hide in his room and jerk off.

He hates Sam. Sam shouldn't have been his brother, but at the same time, he thanks whatever living god made it so he gets a part of Sammy from now till forever.

He hates Sam, but only because he hates himself for loving Sam too much.

* * *

Dean's half way through freshman year, anxiously awaiting fifteen and sophomore year.

Jess says he's growing like a weed. He's eating pie and burgers almost everyday, much to Sam's distaste. He can't stop him though, Dean has needs and he knows every bakery and diner joint in town—Sam can't control the hunger.

He's also starting to put on muscle, with any luck, by this time next year he won't be a twig.

* * *

"Dean, I am taking your brother for his customary twenty-first birthday bar crawl and I shall return him to you promptly when he can't walk anymore," Jess said with a final nod at the boy sitting next to Sam on the couch.

"Ok, one, when were you planning on telling _me_?" Sam asked from his spot on the far end, eyebrow quirked, "And _two_ , why are you telling Dean?"

Sam had spent a majority of his birthday marathoning Indiana Jones movies with Dean, a large bowl of popcorn on the table next to the pizzookie he bought from the grocery store and the pie from that one bakery Dean really liked. It wasn't a custom but that's what it felt like, and it was easy. He had talked to Bobby and Ellen that morning, gaping when they told him they sent him two hundred dollars for his birthday—and not to spend it all on Dean.

Jess and Kevin had been unexpected guests, but he should have known they would, Jess had a penchant for trouble and Kevin had a penchant for Jess.

"Because no one is more your keeper than Dean," Jess said with a roll of her eyes, hand on her hip, Kevin rummaging through their cabinets for chips or something, "And, and, aaand...I brought clothes."

"You brought...what?" Sam asked, face deadpan.

"You can't go bar hopping in worn out blue jeans and a flannel, Sam, so I brought you clothes," she said, looking proud of herself.

It took at least a few more minutes to get Sam up off the couch and forcibly into the bathroom, Jess thrusting the clothes in after him. Dean stood arms crossed in the door way of Sam's room, watching like a hawk. His fingers dug into his crossed arms as he listened to Sam antsily complain from behind his bathroom door.

This is _exactly_ why he hated Jess.

What was wrong with hanging out with Dean? What was wrong with staying up late watching stupid TV and eating food and laughing and waking up passed out together on the couch?

It's wasn't even the worse part. He knew Jess was the one that took Sam out to parties. Knew why Sam came back flushed like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar when Dean asked what they did. It made his skin crawl and mouth dry and for everything he loved about Jess (considering he has known her a big chunk of his life since she's Sam's _other_ best friend, aside from Dean) he hates her.

She routinely takes Sam and let's him get fooled around with and the thought of it makes his blood boil. Why tonight? Why can't he just have what they always do on Sam's birthday? Why can't Sam just be his? Just this one stupid night like it's always been? So what—Sam can drink, big deal. Not like they don't have beer in the house from Bobby.

Now he's going to be up all night waiting for Sam to get home, pulling his hair out and making himself sick—alone—while some sleazy guy gets his stupid ugly damn hands all over Sam in some equally stupid sleazy club or house that doesn't even play the shitty music Sam likes (look, he loves Sam but he should just stick to driving and let Dean pick the music) but plays even shittier screechy dubstep music or something.

So here he is, Jessica Moore sitting excited on the bed calling Dean a moody teenager and telling Sam to hurry up and come out. He's still pissed, totally not looking forward to the rest of his night in his room imagining what Sam's doing like--that one Killers song with the chick getting boned and-

"Jess, why did you buy these all half a size small?" Sam asked in a tight voice as he walked out, black t-shirt clinging to his body and dark wash jeans hugging his legs. It was tight all over, not quite uncomfortable but not quite normal but also completely shutting down all of Dean's higher brain function.

That is _not_ Sam's usual plaid and jeans get up. _At all_.

His arms are visible, sculpted, formed chest visible under the shirt that's stretching over him- the thing barely gets to his jeans, meaning any reaching Sam does tonight will be a teaser for all eyes to see.

"Because you look hot!" Jess exclaimed, nodding her agreement as she walked around, "Yep, its absolutely perfect. The boys will drool, baby."

Deans half way down Sam's toned tight jeans legs and forgiving Jessica for all the wrong she's done to him when he stops, eyes snapping back and head racing back to the storm front. He feels his jaw tighten, immediately sick. Sam is the cutest fucking thing dressed as the hottest fucking bait and it's just to get dangled in a bar.

What the hell is Dean over here getting flushed about? This is for other people, not _him_. He can't even do anything because he's a kid. Even if he wasn't, he's Sam's brother, and sure he's starting to get on the 'Interested in Sexuality' train but no form of this is kosher.

He's just some lusty brat.

"Great, perfect," He hears himself grumble, dropping his arms to escape back to his fortress of solitude—without saying goodbye or goodnight—where's he's going to probably get off on images of Sam and then get sick thinking about whoever gets to do the same.

Dean hates Jessica Moore and he slams his door in emphasis of it.

If he sneaks out later and steals a few of Bobby's beers, no one needs to know. Not like Sam is there to care.

Happy stupid birthday Samantha.

* * *

Sam's head snapped up to watch Dean basically throw himself out of the room, stomping down the hall and slamming his door. Was he mad he was leaving? He didn't really want to go, but when Jess made up her mind there was no stopping her.

When they were ready to leave, Sam made sure to duck by Dean's room, rapping his knuckles on the wood.

"Hey, Dean...I'm gonna go now. I'll have my phone, if you need anything—call me, ok?" He called through the wood, sighing when he got no answer.

They were out of the house in the next couple of minutes in Kevin's car.

* * *

It was almost one by the time Kevin helped Sam stumble into his own house. Jess was already passed out in the back seat, her makeup smeared and a good amount of her lipstick was on Kevin's cheek.

"I- I got this Kev-" Sam mumbled, getting his door open and stumbling in.

Somewhere along the line he knew Kevin gave up and left, the sound of a car engine outside as Sam made his way through the house. Dean's light was still on under his door, so he walked towards that, one hand on the wall to steady himself. He thinks he drank something called a "purple nurple" that really hadn't been necessary and some guy had kissed him after but he just wanted to go home to Dean.

He pushed the door open and smiled slow when he saw his brother, still awake, no doubt waiting for him.

"De," Sam mumbled low, kicking his shoes off as he tripped to his bed, all but crushing Dean where he was sitting, head in his lap, "'M home."

Dean didn't look up, resolute in his sulking. He may have waited up but he wasn't going to grovel about this. When his bed dipped, one look let's Dean know Sam is way passed a couple drinks. He's had three beers and he's happy enough as it is and if Dean is in Happy Land—sulking—Sam is flipping ecstatic.

"You're too big, Sam," he frowns, his resolution to stay upset dissipating.

Sam shifted until his body was stretched out in Dean's small twin bed. He squirmed, uncomfortable in his clothes, reaching to pull his shirt off and abandoning it when he could only get it halfway up his chest. Dean's starting to feel stuffy, his eyes unable to look away from Sam's toned smooth torso as the shirt gets caught and fails half way off.

"Gonna sleep here, gonna make up- make up for the movie we missed," Sam mumbled, eyes closing, reaching for Dean.

Seems he forgives Sam really easy, his comic book falling to the floor as he let's octopus Sam wrap around him.

When's the last time they slept in the same bed? He feels himself flush as his hands touch Sam's bare skin, suppressing a groan at this torture. He's so soft. Dean wants to kiss him again, he wonders if drunk Sam will remember. He got off pretty easy the first time, but he's not brave enough for another shot.

"You better," Dean hums, "You're drunk, gunna make my bed smell like cheap bar." He frowned, his heart aching, "Did ya have fun, Sammy?" He whispered, pushing the older's hair out of his face. Sam leaned into Dean's fingers, humming softly and snuggling closer. His arms circled tighter, pressed against Dean.

"Was pretty fun, Jess kissed everyone, even Kevin," Sam mumbled softly, getting Dean somehow laid out next to him, nosing at his cheek, "But you were...always on my mind, ya know? Wanted to be back, watchin' Monty Python with you-"

He let out a puff of air and slid his legs with Dean's to get closer.

"Didn't want to kiss the guys in the bar, didn't smell good," he whispered, eyes closed, "You smell good."

Dean stiffened, caught between relief and disgust. Those asshats didn't deserve Sam. He can feel his breath over his skin, and as warm as he feels, his body breaks out into goosebumps.

"Yea?" His voice sounds weak, shaky, that day he came home last year in the forefront, a little braver, "All I gotta do is smell good to get ya to kiss me?"

The phrase didn't process right in Sam's head, why would Dean just have to smell good to kiss him? Even if the other guys had smelled good he wouldn't have wanted to. Dean had nice lips though and he did have a pretty face. Basically pretty all over. He was sure Dean would have been a better kiss, even that one time two years ago had been good. He wondered if it would be better if he was prepared this time.

Through his entire thought process, Sam was staring intently at Dean's lips, fingers coming up to brush along the bottom lip.

"Always smell nice, all nice," Sam whispered, not truly making any sense anymore.

He leaned in on impulse and pressed his lips to Dean's, mouth half open and catching his brother's on an angle. It was warm and Dean seemed to let him just kiss him for a long moment until Sam was pulling back, blearily eyed and smiling, eyes closing as he snuggled in, intent for bed.

"Better than the bar," he mumbled, Dean's hand in his own as he fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

At fifteen, Dean has a reputation. He's made out with half or more of the cheerleading squad, and he's co-captain of the wrestling team with this guy named Victor, who's pretty nice. Little mouthy but alright.

The thing is, it doesn't matter how many girls he fools around with or how many girls he gets his hands on behind the bleachers. He's fifteen and he gets it. He's in love with his big brother, and no amount of fooling around changes that. He kisses Anna Milton and he kisses Meg Masters, Lisa Braeden, but all he sees when he closes his eyes, as his tongue tastes sweet lip gloss and soft sighs, is Sam. He's infected.

The rules haven't changed, he still won't talk about it.

There has only been two times that Dean can count honestly that he's kissed Sam: The first time that sealed the deal, and the second time. Sam's twenty-first birthday, stunning him and making him gasp and kiss back as Sam fell asleep, soft and wet and drunk and unaware of the course it set Dean on.  
  
That night Sam kissed him, wrecked everything, and passed out in his bed leaving Dean to lay there as wonder what this meant for them.

At seven, Dean knew he wanted to marry Sam. Even if he didn't know why. At eleven, he knows it's not going to happen. At twelve, Dean learns what "gay" is and at fourteen he kisses Sam and he knows he's a freak.

At fifteen, he's in love and he knows he's not suppose to be.

* * *

Dean hit his growth spurt just under six-feet and he's picked up autoshop along with wrestling, helping Bobby on the weekends.

Mostly he wants to be more independent so Sam isn't his parent. His complex for Sam is weird enough as it is, he doesn't need Sam to be his mom and dad along with brother and best friend and sexual fantasy.

Sometimes Sam falls asleep on the couch and Dean comes out and brings a blanket. Some days are worse then others and all he wants is to run his hands over Sam's soft, firm skin. He's tucked SAMs bangs back so many times while he's been asleep that he knows by heart were all his beauty marks are, how peaceful he looks.

He only counts those two times and real kisses because Sam was awake.

Asleep? Sometimes Dean can't help it, he'll press a soft chase kiss, he's only done it maybe five times when he needs it most, sneaking into Sam's room when he feels like he'll die.

Dean's older now so he and Sam hang out more, better balanced and easier conversation. They still fight, but now when Jess and Kevin come over, Dean can stay in the room and talk back without being bored.

He doesn't react when Sam goes out on blind dates that Jess sets up or when Sam gets dressed up for another party. Dean's older so Sam can have a life. Dean won't take that from him. He plays it cool.

It doesn't stop him from tearing his bed apart and screaming into a pillow. Still hates and loves Jess. It's good for Sam, he knows it. Dean's the fucked up one. But his chest goes through a blender every time Sam gets all happy about hanging out with his friends, with these guys at parties.

Most days are okay though. Most days it's on the back burner like it's always been.

It's summer, practice has been long and hard and until he fixes the impala up into working perfect condition, Sam won't let Dean drive. So he walks home from Benny's—Benny has a pick up his dad gave him—it's only three blocks so it's not so bad.

Minus the heat.

He's sticky and sweaty and the air is dry and he's going to end up baked with more freckles then he already thinks is healthy to have by the end of August. Dean just wants to go home, start the air conditioner, drink lemonade and have the house cool for Sam when he gets back.

Maybe talk Sam into burgers on the porch, even let Sam make his weird lemon pepper asparagus thing in the foil that he likes so much.

How did Sam get so tall eating nothing but green stuff?

* * *

Dean hit fifteen and Sam hit a crisis.

It started with the growth spurts, inch after inch Dean grew until Sam could no longer lean on Dean's head like an armrest—which he hated anyways and was always swatted away with a "Do I look like furniture to you?".

And it seemed like with his newfound height also came a newfound sense of purpose. He was more involved with wrestling than ever before, making captain of the wrestling team with a recommendation from Sonny, not that he needed it considering the talent Dean had and the amount of times he had won the match for the school. He picked up auto shop, to Bobby's pleasant surprise, and more than one weekend had been spend up at Bobby's, Sam driving them back to Sioux Falls for the weekend so Dean could work with him at the shop, tanned and sweating in the sun.

That's when Sam's crisis hit.

He was looking at his little brother. Actually _looking_. He was watching the sweat drip down the hollow of his throat and slide down that sliver of golden chest until it hit the tank top he was wearing. God help him if Dean decided to strip it off completely, leaving Sam on the porch, sweating for an entirely different reason.

Puberty had treated Dean like a king, sharpening his jaw gently, cheekbones balancing out the softness of his lip, lean frame made longer, muscles added from wrestling and skin tanned from working outside.

So yes, Sam was looking and he was going to hell for it.

Of course he isn't the only one who noticed, girls flocked around him when Sam pulls up to the high school, Dean a god walking among them as he makes his way to the car. Once Sam caught Dean kissing a girl like his life depended on it, and she looked dazed by the time he let her go.

He doesn't let it rule his life, for the most part he shoved it into a box inside another box inside another box and then pushed all the way in the back corner of his mind.

Dean isn't so much his little brother anymore as he is Sam's best friend. They had always been close but now he was closer in maturity and intellect and Sam could talk to him for hours. He wasn't taking care of Dean anymore, not really, it was more like they were taking care of each other.

Sam is twenty-two and swamped with school and work and most days he blows off Jess and Kevin in favor of just hanging out with Dean, when Dean wasn't with his own friends, wasn't out with his girl flavor-of-the-week. He doesn't care about them, knows he should be telling Dean not to play with their hearts, they don't know what love is and they're impressionable and young but he can't bring himself to, feels relieved that Dean doesn't really care about them. He always came back to him and the thought made Sam's heart soar just for his mind to whisper "sick" and shoot it down.

He loves his little brother and he's having a hard time figuring out just exactly how he loves him.

In the face of this problem, Sam starts going on dates that Jess set up. They never come in, never last more than one date and some stress relief making out in his car sometimes-leads-to-more but he never brings them home, never stays the night.

However, he meets Brady and thought that maybe he could see him again. He was nice, they were in the same major and they had quite a bit in common. This was safe, this was ok, so he would give it a go. He didn't make out on the first date, they didn't even kiss other than a kiss on the cheek on Sam's doorstep, the second date earning Sam a slow chaste kiss. They had already set up another date a week from Friday.

Dean thinks Sam has been a little weird recently, like a spooked animal. He pretty much screams 'I have something to ask' and Dean doesn't really know what or why. Sam could ask him to eat a jar of mayonnaise and as gross as that is, if he made those puppy dog eyes, he'd do it. So what has had Sam in a bunch the last week? He's downed his third lemonade and the burger begging actually worked—almost too easy—when Sam finally seems to pop. Dean's got a mouth full of cheesy puffs, feet on the Table watching Fifth Element and lemonade in his hand.

"Dean, do you have a friend's house you could stay at Friday?" Sam asked casually the next Wednesday, wondering if it was too much to assume they might come back to the house afterwards.

"Uh....I guess...why?" He licked cheesy powder from his fingers. Why would he need to be out? Were they tenting the house for the weekend of something? Dean thought that last time was it, they did that orange oil thing for terminates and-

Realization dawned on him.

Sam's dates usually were one night only deal—this last guy got a second one but Sam hadn't talked about keeping him around. His stomach knotted. Third date. Third date meant sex, doesn't it?

"You're kicking me out to get some tail," Dean hears himself say surprisingly even toned, if not a little annoyed. He's impressed with himself, because personally, internally he's having a panic attack crash into a self loathing fit. But as far as he can tell, Dean's mastered the art of pretending he's peachy.

Sam couldn't figure our Dean's tone. He sounded a little annoyed, which would make sense if your older brother asked you to take a hike so he could get some—which wasn't his plan, it was just a precaution—but for the most part it wasn't angry or upset, right? That was a good thing? Nothing to feel disappointed over.

"That- no, I just have a date and you'll be here by yourself," Sam started, trying to find a way to not spun absolutely lame, like he wanted to call a baby sitter or something, "Who knows what you could get up to by yourself, Dean, and I for one would not like to come home to macaroni on the ceiling. However, if you do it at Benny's house, then I will commend you for your ingenuity."

Dean frowned at Sam. That was one time. When he was eight and it had seemed funny at the time.

Sam thinks maybe he saved himself but at the same time was completely sure he had just rambled and let some of his irritation at Dean's southern friend—that kid was trouble and looked like he should be at least a senior, let alone a freshman—slip out.

It's starting to become clear what Sam is avoiding coming out in staying. And to Dean—it hurts. Another reminder that he's just the annoying kid brother. Sam wants to start getting frisky at home and Dean's an obstacle.

He fights the urge to call Sam out on his bullshit, but he reminds him self he has no place to be pissy. What could he say? 'Hey I know I'm only fifteen—oh and heads up incest is cool—I'm in love with you don't kick me out to screw some dickbag-'

"Yea. Okay. Whatever up want, Sammy," He deflated a little, getting up and taking his puffs and glass with him, "I'll call Benny."

* * *

Thing is, Dean has a self restraint problem. This is really testing his nerves.

Soon as he's up from school Friday morning, he swipes Sam's keys and stuffs the glove compartment full of every 'Living with Herpes' and 'STDs-It's Okay!' brochure he's grabbed from the local awareness counter he could get over the whole week.

Once he's completely satisfied of the spring effect when that puppy opens, he leaves the keys in the kitchen and walks to Benny's.

It's the only small rebellious thing he does, leaving before saying good bye to Sam. It's a little spiteful and he feels both guilty and angry. Jealous. Dean's been jealous in one shape or form involving Sam his whole life. This changes nothing really, only that now he's old enough to know why and old enough to know he's not suppose to be.

So when Benny asks why he's "such a moody bitch" he just punches him in the arm and tells him he wants to skip algebra for Nikki's Diner.

Another small mark at Sam, not that he'll notice. Dean's positive Sam never even hears the messages before Dean gets home to delete them.

* * *

Friday morning when Sam wakes up, Dean is already gone. Dean always said goodbye to him, even when he was in a rush, but Sam tried not to let it bother him, pours his coffee in silence and tries not to think it was because of what he asked Dean.

He has work and then just enough time to get home and shower. The closer his date got the more he was wondering if it was even really worth it. But if he bowed out now Jess would be on his case for weeks and Sam would have lost the one best prospect for companionship he'll find aside from Dean, and that was a path he couldn't go down.

Sam greets Brady at the door, Dean gratefully gone at Benny's house, "Ready? We can take my car."

Just as predicted, the date goes without a hitch, but this time Brady was a little more forward, a brush of his hand along Sam's lower back, trailing eyes. He knows what Brady wants and it's been a long time since he's had anything more than heavy petting.

So if they leave a little earlier from dinner than expected, neither says anything. And if Brady runs his hand up Sam's thigh while he's driving, Sam isn't complaining, biting his lip as he closes the few inches north as Sam turns onto his street.

It was only expected when they make out over the console, Brady's hands tugging at him until he's straddling the other male's lap, mouths connected and hands down the back of his unbuttoned jeans.

"Hold on- I- I have condoms," Sam breathed, Brady's lips stretching against his before he leaned back to open the glove compartment-

Sam was accosted by at least a hundred flyers for STDs and , the whole passenger side of the car coated in the brightly colored papers.

Brady looked surprised and more than a little perturbed, somewhere between amused and confused. Sam was about to die.

"It's- I don't have STDs, my brother... likes to play pranks, I'm sorry, I promise it's just a joke--" Sam rambled until Brady pulls him back down into another kiss until he's is moaning again.

"Do you have condoms inside?" Brady asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I- yeah, yeah I do."

"Then may I come in?"

"—yeah."

They stumble from the car, Brady's hands on Sam's hips, sliding back and down into his pants as they make it to the porch. Sam's shoulders get pressed into the door, his hand releasing Brady's shirt to thump against the door in an effort to find the door handle, panting and moaning into Brady's mouth.

Brady's got his tongue down his throat and fingers extremely close to where Sam wants them when his whole world is being uprooted and he's falling, breaking away from Brady and regaining his balance as he stumbled into the house.

* * *

Dean has no words for how bad he wants to deck this asshole when he sees them from the window stumbling for the door, fucking dickhead shoving his nasty hands into the back of Sam's pants-

He's already making it down the stairs, maybe faster then necessary when he hears the loud thump—fucking hell is this fucker just slamming Sam around for kicks?

He hurts, it's like the only thing he feels aside from annoyance and rage as he yanks the door open, Sam and the douche bag almost falling in.

"Sammy!" Dean piped up, grinning, "and you must be Brandy- thanks for getting Sam home by curfew." He flicked his eyes away from Sam's half stretched out shirt, soft bite marks on his normally flawless throat-

Fuck he wants to kill this fucker--

Worst fucking part is Sam flushing and wide eyed—he looks like he needs—underneath what Dean can obviously read as mortification and rising anger.

"Or was it Brady? Nope. Can't be Brady. Pretty sure it was a hooker's name."

Damage control. Sam needed to work on some damage control ASAP.

"Dean, would you kindly shut up? _Brady_ is a guest, don't be rude," Sam bit out, each word punctuated by his glare.

"Maybe... I should get going-"

"I- god, sorry Brady, I'll call you?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised as he turned back to where Brady was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

 _Brandy_ is everything Dean's going to have grandiose fantasies about torturing in the pits of hell. He'd probably care more except he and Brady are having a stare down while Sam is totally losing his cool. God he wishes he had the force to go dark side on this sorry piece of--

"Yeah, Sam, it's ok, obviously this wasn't planned," Brady said with a slow shit eating grin at Dean that Sam missed before tugging Sam into a slow kiss, teeth catching Sam's bottom lip as he pulled back, clearly in Dean's view.

Brady kisses Sam. Full HD. And it's nothing like the kisses Dean remembers with Sam. Nothing like those first two and nothing like the quiet secret stolen couple he's got when Sam's asleep. It's deep and sensual and Sam makes this noise that Dean can't even allow himself to fully enjoy—but it's like angels singing to his dick, too bad it's for Brandy the hooker. He pulls away, Dean totally absorbed by how good Sam looks with his lip tugged by teeth and-

Fuck, fuck this is too much emotion—killing someone and wanting to try that same hooker's trick on Sam this exact second is too much—he's going to overload. The dick leaves and dean is putting his brain back together after a forced restart--

"What... the _hell_ , Dean?" Sam asked, turning to Dean with an exasperated expression, "HIV pamphlets? And weren't you supposed to be at Benny's?"

Oh, shit. Sam's a little pissed. Okay, well, Dean can be pissed too.

"Maybe I didn't feel like  being a piece of meat you toss out over Brandy the Rent-a-Fuck," Dean snapped, immune to Sam's tone

Sam felt a sharp pang of guilt at that one, mixed with the nauseous was Dean insulted him. Brady was actually a nice guy, intelligent, it wasn't his fault Dean had met Brady when they were both incredibly horny with intent of fixing that. Even _he_ wasn't a perfect role model in the midst of sexual need, so shoot him.

What hurt the worst was that Dean thought Sam considered him a burden. He couldn't just come out and say 'Dean, your fifteen year old post-growth spurt body has awakened dormant feelings of need and is making me question my familial love for you so I had to try and send you away so I could get some and ease the tension because shower jerk offs aren't cutting it'. No, that sounded like a very bad plan.

"You're not _meat_ , Dean, Jesus," Sam said, exasperated, "Did you really think that's what I thought of you? Some kid in the way of my dates? Damn it, Dean, it was _respect_ , what kind of asshole would I be if I just did it anyways?"

Deans shoulders tensed, knowing it was so much more then that and he was over flowing with it.

"How about you just, I don't know— _don't—_ I get it. I'm the kid brother, I'm totally cock blocking and causing a shit fest, but come on Sammy- the guy's a total lecherous creep. He didn't even care that he was slipping your pants off where every one of the neighbors could see- not counting he couldn't wait a damn second to let you open the door before tossing you around-" he threw his hands up, trying to keep up the annoyed protective annoying brother act but it's tipping. He's losing control.

"What's with these guys? They suck- okay- I mean-" tumbling, he ends up stepping up into Sam's personal space, hand reaching out to flatten against his chest as he presses Sam firmly against the oak paneling, green eyes looking up at his giant older sibling. Sam still has a good five-ish inches on him, and he's so frustrated he can't be enough.

That Brandy McAsswipe made Sam sing sweet sounds and got Sam desperate and pink and Dean only gets in the way-

There's pressure against Sam's chest and he's pressed firmly into the wall behind him, and Dean is so much closer than he should be in this situation, touching much more than they should be. God, but all he could see is Dean, and if that wasn't a neon sign highlighting the reason they were even having this problem, then he doesn't know what was.

"You're _mine_ ," he grit out, voice growling, deep. He's passed the age of awkward voice cracking, but he's never heard his voice sound that weathered.

Deans earthy green eyes are stern, looking dead on at Sam as a equal, not as the younger brother but as someone stating the absolute truth. 

Fucking Christ. All higher brain function shut down, thoughts completely halted. Dean's voice was gravel deep, the way it ripped from his throat like a growl, not at all the childish squeaks of his brother's younger years. This was a different animal, and it was telling Sam that he belonged to him.

The sky is blue, fire is hot, the universe is vast, life is short, and Sam belongs to Dean, just like Dean belongs to Sam. It's with that vindication that Dean speaks, only seriousness, not a threat but a complete honest truth he holds to himself—usually a secret with himself—he's just so far gone right now it's spilling out of him, his fingers tightening in Sam's shirt.

How was he supposed to respond to that? Because his first reaction is to lean in and kiss Dean like he wasn't his fifteen year old brother.

Sam is looking at Dean like he's looking at someone else, something he doesn't recognize. He can't tell if it's good or bad but it shoots through Dean like he's been burned. Like that was too much, like he's being to transparent about how he feels about his brother.

So he steels himself and let's go, giving Sam some space and breaking the weirdly electric moment between them.

"...these guys are just asshats, Sammy. It's suppose to be you and me against the world, right?" He murmurs looking down, feeling uneasy. His anger has subsided into the nagging feeling that he's crossing lines he wasn't suppose to, that he over shared. This is why he hates talking feelings.  
This is Sam's gig.

A quick glance and Dean can feel a sort of tension he can't describe between them.

He told Sam he's his. Brothers don't do that? Right? That's more like a possessive boyfriend thing, isn't it?

He has to back track—he'd rather have Sam angry then have Sam figure out why dean is being such a dick about him dating—anything besides Sam figuring out what Dean feels--

So he just jumps ship and shoves his foot in his mouth post haste.

"—stop going out with these jerks—I don't know—buy a fancy toy or something—" he spiddles dumbly, trying to shoot for annoyed brother again instead of obviously pining fucked up brother.

The moment was gone, absolutely crushed under Dean's generally insensitive comments as his brother moved far enough away that Sam could actually think. And with his returned senses came his anger, this time bolstered by the easy way Dean was brushing off what just happened. He was more angry at himself for reading into it as much as he did. Dean was his brother and it's always been them, there was just a deeply ingrained sense of codependency, that was all. Its what he had to repeat to himself, but he couldn't help but feel stupid for it anyways, and it made him irritable.

"Buy a- what the fuck, Dean, this is _not_ about my sex life!" Sam exclaimed, like he was going to say he already had toys to his fifteen year old brother. No way.

He followed when Dean start walking towards the living room, if he thought this conversation was over with then he had another thing coming.

"Dean! Will you just stop being a _child_ -" Sam all but growled in frustration, and it was a low blow but he was at wits end.

It stops him on a dime, chest crushing, turning fast to see his brother, mouth hot and tasting like iron. He's _not_ a child—he just isn't anything but a brat to Sam—it's not his fault that that's all Sam sees him as- it's not his fault god is a jackass and made them related- it's not his fault he was born 7 years late and-

On an impulse Sam reached out and grabbed a pillow from the couch, smacking Dean in the side of the face with the green throw pillow, panting. Oh, that felt  _good_.

Dean's thought process ends when his face is side slammed with a throw pillow, making him stumble at the shock of it. He grabbed his face looking at Sam with wide eyes, the older breathing heavy and frustrated. It takes a minute to collect his thoughts.

"Did you just call me a child and hit me with a pillow?" He asked, dumbfounded.

Sam has the nerve to look pleased.

"Bitch!" He hissed, leaning over the couch and grabbed the other pillow, chucking it back and catching Sam's face.

Dean's provocation was downright dangerous but Sam was in the mood to play with fire.

He gets a pillow to the face, but it's returned just as quickly, both standing and panting. It's a lot like a Mexican stand off, face to face wielding the couch pillows, quick breathing before dean just lunges, knocking them into the love seat and the floor, pillows being yanked from the furniture and getting thrown around. There's a lot of growling and frustration. They're holding two pillows each and Sam is so tempted to say, "There ain't enough room in this town for two, kid", but movie quoting was Dean's thing.

Dean goes kamikaze and just flies at him, Sam trying valiantly to hit him before they make contact, knocked right over on to the floor, rough carpet under his back. There was a flurry of limbs and pillows, noises from both of them that sounded way more animalistic than the upright homo sapiens they were.

"—call Jody—child abuse—stupid Samantha—treating me—like a kid—" Dean is breathing hard with each hit, before Sam kicks him off and he's getting his own face full, Sam beating him down. He's pretty sure he hears a lamp fall, and neither is caring by the time Sam totally cheats and pulls off a whole couch cushion.

Sam huffed and got the upper hand, Dean's wrestling technique lost in his own irritation, giving Sam the opening to flip them over, pinning him to the floor as he hit him with the couch pillow.

"—won't treat you like one—if you stop-  _acting_ like one-"

Another flip and they roll around, Dean's pretty sure they will both have rug burn but somehow the fighting and yelling and bickering is just starting to turn into snorts and laughing.

"Ow- FUCK-" Dean bit out batting at Sam, hit across the face as he falls onto the floor, only for Sam's knee to swing over him, keeping him on the floor as he gets bombarded. It's mostly laughter and begging and labored breathing at this point.

The tension is bleeding out of them despite the words, and Sam is laughing more at the expression Dean gets when he get clocked in the face, like he couldn't believe Sam actually hit him, nevertheless with a soft pillow—which really weren't that soft when you were being beaten to death by it.

Sam yet again got the upper hand and got one leg on either side of Dean's stomach, holding his perch atop his brother.

"SAM- Sammy- Sam stop—can't-breathe—uncle! Yatzi- white flag- I quit-" Dean is a mess, head falling back as he keeps his arms up to defend his unarmed face.

When the attack slows, his hands drop, longing on SAMs thighs. It takes only a second to realize SAMs been straddling him.

Dean has to swallow, still laughing a little as he swallows breaths, Sam doesn't seem much better off, even as the victor he looks winded.

Deans just laying there with Sam sitting on top of him and....he's perfect, his bangs falling in his pink laughing face, eyes bright and his ugly red flannel shirt shoved up his arms. Built chest rising and falling-

Sam was laughing when he dropped the pillow to either side of them, chest heaving but smiling wider than he had all week. He missed Dean like this, acting like his best friend, wrestling until they were both breathless, too winded and breathless through laughter to even really say anything.

Dean feels his hands flex and tighten on Sam's thighs, dragging down slow. It's dangerous how much he wants to lean up and try kissing Sam like that hooker guy did, but he loves moments like these, so he swallows his want and instead, relaxes to enjoy the moment, leaving his hands loosely on Sam's thighs, thumb rubbing ever so small as he tries to breath again.

Sam shouldn't let the hands on his thighs distract him so much. Did Dean even realize what he was doing? How the way he was holding was with the same possessive tone as the hand on his chest earlier. How he was making Sam's stomach tie up in knots and confusing his brain. He was questioning his morals left and right, and he had to go and straddle his little brother, had to subject himself to what that might do to him, especially within half an hour of being almost fully attached to Brady.

Yet through all of that, this moment is what he loved most about living with Dean, the ease. It didn't always feel like that, but the way they could come apart and argue, they came back together just as quickly.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam said softly, reaching down to fix Dean's rumpled hair, "I'm an asshole."

His younger brother's eyes fall closed instinctively, taking a deep breath when Sam's fingers run through his hair. He has to swallow the lump in his throat, his heart pounding. Dean's nose was soft and tickled the inside of his wrist, but Sam didn't move it away, didn't want to.

"You're not all bad..." Dean smiled softly, turning his face into Sam's wrist, running his nose over it, "Could improve a bit with the cooking...and it wouldn't kill you to brush up on something besides nerd stuff..." His eyes opened, looking up at his older brother.

"'Nerd stuff' is my job," Sam protested lightly, any heat the words could have held was lost when Dean brushed his fingers through his hair. Dean's eyes softened, reaching up to brush his long hair behind Sam's ear. It's another strange moment.

"I'm not sorry I screwed your shots of screwing Brandy the hooker," It's clear he's not. He doesn't regret it. He'll do it again if he can. And again.

Sam could only sigh softly, but he wasn't angry anymore. He was all but certain his unadressed arousal would come back to haunt him, but right now he was comfortable and Dean wasn't angry anymore. Brady was forgotten until Dean brought it back up.

"I guess I'll just go buy a 'fancy toy'."

Dean snorted, "You mean buy another one?" He punched Sam in the arm, pants a little stiff at the idea. Really inappropriate timing.

Sam snorted but internally panicked because he _really_ hoped that was just a joke and Dean didn't know about his toy box because that was not a conversation he needed to have.

He slowly moved to get up, tugging Dean with him.

"Indiana Jones?" he asked, tilting his head towards the couch.

"Actually..." Dean started picking up the destructive mess of the couch, "I'd really like that...." He smirked, "So long as I get to recite the movie without you throwing popcorn at me. Oh. And make popcorn," he grinned cheeky.

"Aren't you high maintenance, princess," Sam cocked an eyebrow but turned and headed towards the kitchen for popcorn, "The popcorn wouldn't hit you so much if you would just shut your trap!"

* * *

An hour later they were wrapped up in blankets on the couch with Raiders of the Lost Ark and a large bowl of buttery popcorn, Sam letting Dean get his fill of "Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?" and "Son of a bitch!" in perfect timing with Indiana on the screen. It was even a little endearing, the way Dean would scrunch his face up and match the pitch as he delivered the lines.

Two hours later Dean was asleep against his chest as the credits rolled, and Sam reached over and clicked the TV off and leaving them in darkness. Sam looked down at his brother, sighing softy as he ran his fingers through the soft spikes of Dean's hair, eyes tracing over the more grown up features of Dean's face, still seeming so innocent while he slept. He didn't have the heart to wake him, didn't want to, so instead he laid back, tugging Dean along with him and closing his eyes, little brother asleep on his chest.

* * *

"Sammy, welcome home." Dean grinned, shirtless as he jogged up the porch when Sam got back.

It was another one of those days where Dean is beat to hell. Practice and then hours at the shop.

He gets home in the cooking sun before Sam, covered in grease and oil and sweat.

The way, he figures, he had a couple hours before Sam gets back, so he decided to work on the impala.

"So I think I'll have her mostly put together around Christmas- needs a lot of body work. And parts- I'll have to save up for the parts-"

Dean goes on his tangent about how beautiful his baby will be when he's done as he trails into the house after Sam, skin goose bumping a little in the air conditioner.

Sam may not have been taking as many classes now that it was summer, but for what he lost in classes he made up for with work. He was exhausted and the heat was suffocating. He didn't do summer well, that was Dean, and the vice versa could be said for winter. Sam was fine, but Dean couldn't stop griping about how he couldn't feel his toes until Sam let him sleep in the same bed and press his frozen toes to the backs of his legs.

There was one thing Sam was finding he increasingly enjoyed about Summer.

Dean, shirtless, sweating and covered in dirt and oil from working on the car, skin sun kissed in the light, freckles standing out against his skin. He forced himself only a casual glance as his brother bounded up the steps after him.

Dean is rambling on about the impala as they both walk in to the house, and while Sam would have reprimanded Dean for starting the air conditioning meaninglessly while he was outside, he could only be thankful it had already been on when he stepped in.

Dean, however, must have been out _enjoying_ the sun, because as soon as Sam turned around to face his brother after depositing his keys int he bowl and setting his bag down, all he could focus on was the way Dean's nipples got pebbly and hard because of the air, goosebumps trailing all over his skin.

Sam had a long moment of absolute blankness and then the _very_ inappropriate image of wrapping his lips and sucking at Dean's chest until both sides were just as hard and bright red from the attention.

No. Not ways to think about your shirtless brother and his stupid low hanging jeans and he could just see the tip of Dean's boxer briefs—and he knew thats what they were, because he did all of the laundry in the house—above the hem.

What a great reminder that he needed to do laundry.

"I'm done for the day, so lets start some laundry, I just need to get changed," Sam said, turning so he wouldn't have to stare at his /little brother/ standing like some sort of sun god in the living room.

God he was going to hell.

* * *

Laundry days are Dean's favorite days. It's torture, but it's the kind he looks forward to.

Sam gets out of the shower and puts all the laundry in the washing machine in nothing but some flimsy jeans cut off into shorts that hang low and tug just right.

He's knows what he's feeling is wrong, he's been slowly coming to terms with it, but deans pretty much accepted he's fucked up.

Sam doesn't even wear underwear, he can tell because of how tight those jeans form over his ass when his older brother bends over—if Sam reaches for anything, stretches out at all, those low jeans slip over narrow hips. God, Dean's focus ends up imagining licking over those shaped hip bones and nuzzling the light trail trail of hair leading down into those jeans and-

Anyway, laundry days are like a reward day. Dean actually busts ass to get all his homework and shit done so he can afford to casually hang around the living room _all_ day.

Just to watch Sam move around the house. Benny can call to go see $2 movies or whoever to hangout and Dean _really_ doesn't care. This is his day. And as incognito as possible, feigning interest in the TV, he watches Sammy like the creep he is. Watches him walk around, shirtless and muscled, health freak fit and perky nipples in the air conditioning and just....perfect. Every laundry day—every 2 weeks—ends with Dean desperately chasing orgasms into his freshly cleaned sheets that smell like Sam and detergent and fuel every filthy thought he's had that day. Ranging from tasting down Sam's spine, to what his brother's cock might taste like with Dean on his knees pinning Sammy to the cupboard.

Like he's said—he's fucked up and he can't tell anyone else about it.

This time is a little different.

Dean missed the last couple laundry days. He had run late at wrestling and Sam decided to join the universe in ruining the one good thing for his sexual needs in his life. (Good may be subjective and dependent on just how _liberal_ you were to Dean's number one sexual fantasy star...) So when he does actually get the day—he's pent up way more than normal. It feels 10x hotter and rawer on his nerves when Sam comes down the stairs with wet hair, balancing the basket of dirty clothes. God help him, Sam didn't even bother to button his slutty fucking jean cut offs. Dean may or may not think he should 'prank' Sam by making them into daisy dukes, though really it's just because he's dying to see his brothers toned thighs.

What also makes this particular time different is—well, not his fault—because of his lack of 'laundry day' release, and Dean is unable to look away. He doesn't ever bother to hide how hungry he looks when Sam's in the room. He's trying to be slick but all that smooth back is just begging him, and the drips of water on Sammy's hair—it's like he was set up.

And then it happens. Sam drops the basket and has to pick it all up and Dean's hit the ceiling in terms of restraint.  
He's turned around on the couch, watching Sam pick it all up in the kitchen having to bite his lip to stop the groan. Everyone says being a teenager is when you're your horniest and he really hope so because _how_ is he suppose to hide how hard he got if it's going to be like this for the rest of his adult life.

By the time Sam gets the laundry back, moved everything to the dryer and has gone to pull out what he needs for dinner, Dean's palming himself to attempt to keep it down, unable to turn back forward. He's just...watching. Turned to the back of the couch watching Sam in nothing but his short jeans (commando) moving around the kitchen on auto pilot.

He's busy actively thinking about how Sam even has back dimples just above the perfect ass, still discreetly rubbing when he has to bite his knuckle to stop from hissing as Sam picks up a dropped bag of carrots.

He's busted, Sam's eyes turning to look at him when the sound escapes him.

He's never been caught, usually by now he's only shooting glances, but he's never just stared blatantly at Sam like this, never started the party early and fondled himself with Sam in the room. Not that Sam can see the fondling, because Sam's on the other side of the couch in the kitchen--

But he knows Sam _can_ see Dean biting his knuckle and looking at Sam like a slab of expensive high grade meat.

* * *

Sam's theory is that if he can fit two weeks worth of laundry into one load, he can save a load's worth of detergent and water, thus saving them money. He hadn't always been so frugal, but he had spent a lot of his time devising things like this—things that quickly turned to OCD—that would allow him to prove that he could live with Dean and give him a comfortable standard of living. It was one of the most important things to him.

So he would chose a day where all of his dirty laundry was consolidated into one load—and he was anything if not thorough, showering and throwing on his rattiest, oldest pair of cut off jeans from some time in middle school when he had hit a growth spurt that left him too tall for his jeans and his hips had always been too narrow for Dean's stockier, more muscular frame, so hand-me-downs were out. He was at home anyways, he didn't have to worry what someone would think about his shorts and/or lack of shirt, or the fact that he went commando solely for the purpose of cleaning everything he owned. The only person home was Dean, and Sam didn't have to worry about him, his fucked up mind was his secret, and to his brother it was probably just weird.

Though today it felt like Dean had been staring, watching his every move. He pretended not to notice, figuring Dean was just being Dean and couldn't find anything _else_ to watch or something. It sounded like an excuse he might use, too. But it made his skin tingle in the tight way that made him repress shivers and mentally berate himself for thinking filthy things about his brother's eyes on him. Even when he dropped the laundry basket, it was like he was on display.

But that was stupid, he was delusional.

Yet it feels like maybe he isn't when he hears Dean make this sound from the living room as Sam was picking up a bag of carrots from the ground—why the hell was he dropping everything, seriously—and turned to investigate. What he found was Dean's eyes on him and that expression was one like nothing he had ever seen on his brother but instinctually recognized as want. But... that expression didn't belong on his brother's face, not even if it made Sam's jeans feel tight and his breath catch in his throat.

No, it couldn't be what he's thinking. He's been pent up recently with every attempt at release sabotaged by his little brother, and it was making him imaging that his fifteen year old brother could be looking at him in unadulterated lust.

No, it couldn't be.

"Dean? You ok?" Sam asked, straightening and scratching his fingers through the light trail of hair under his belly button, in hopes of it soothing his nerves, "Did you hurt your finger" Yeah, opt the safe route.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Dean's brain is rushing, somehow under all the stress he still can't stop rubbing himself over his PE sweats.

He's mortified, forcing himself to stop as his heart pounds. Sam doesn't need to know.

"No I'm good," his voice is a octave lower than normal, eyes watching Sam's hand as it soothes over the skin he wishes he could taste about now.

He doesn't want busted, so he swallows, "What's for dinner, Sammy?" He still sounds a little rough but it's more controlled than before, his hand going for casual and resting on the sofa.

God, to Sam it sounded like Dean just gargled gravel, the way his voice comes out low, and maybe it was his ears but it sounded almost strained. The tone alone made that familiar heat pool low in his stomach, leaving him turning and pressing his hips to the counter to keep himself from twitching into interest in front of his little brother. He tried to busy himself with peeling the carrots, anything to keep him from looking back into the living room.

Seriously this was getting a little ridiculous, Sam taking a deep breath with his back turned.

"I was thinking lasagna? Steamed carrots on the side. Didn't really have time to make it, but its that pre-made stuff that you just have to cook, I think we had it before," Sam said, trying to keep his voice casual, turning to check the oven, bending over to pull the door open before taking the dish and sliding it in, straightening out and sighing with a slight nod.

Don't look at Dean, don't look at Dean, you freak, seriously, do not look at him if you can't control yourself. God but he didn't want to and it was killing him.

Dean can't stop, he's still palming, but suddenly the idea of doing more about this with Sam in the room chokes him up in heat.

"- that vegetarian one?" He thinks he sounds better, trying to whisper more than straight out talk so it sounds raspy and soft like maybe he's just tired. Tired and not seriously pulling his shorts down just enough to spring his loaded cock free, talking his marble hard shaft in his hand.

Sam could only see shoulders up. Dean in his worn out dark side of the moon shirt, looking like he's just to tired to talk, arm and hand along the back of the couch. Sam one hazarded a quick glance, nodding an affirmative as he turned back to the task of steaming the carrots.

No idea that Dean's other hand is working himself slowly. He doesn't wan to get caught, never does. But there's a edge—blinding hot and demanding—about doing this in front of Sam and imagining him knowing and this turning into a fantasy.

It won't. But this has escalated into the best hand job he's ever had.

He listens as Sam speaks without turning. It's okay he doesn't, because Dean would probably come on spot if it were Sam's front he was staring at through lidded eyes.

He's not loud, forcing hi breathing calmly through his nose, hand stroking faster. Sam turns the water on to run over the carrots and it's loud enough you can't hear the slick channel of his hand being fucked.

God, he lets his eyes eat up Sam's exposed skin, wishing he could slide up behind his brother and fuck him from behind against the counter-

Something gets on Sam's fingers and Dean comes, biting his lips red as he watches Sam's tongue dart out to lick around the digit.

Dean has to hold his breath, closing his eyes and his hips jerk, cum sticky against his belly. Carefully he tucks back in, letting his breath out as quietly as he can, covering up his mess.

'Sam doesn't know, Sam doesn't know- fuck- I want Sam-'

It's all he can think as he let's his good hand slip into his hair and pull slightly, eyes falling closed as he tries to come back down, at least enough to stand and get to his room without notice.

For Sam, it wasn't worth it to waste time washing his hands, so he brought his finger off to clean up the mess, licking his lips after to make sure nothing got on his face. It really didn't taste that good, but he was distracted by a slightly sound from the living room, like a soft intake of breath he wouldn't have noticed if wasn't so hyperaware of Dean-

Fuck. He was absolutely fucked and immediately hard.

Dean's eyes are closed, hand in his hair with lips parted, red and shiny and Sam can't remember if they were like that before or if he's just sick but the image burns so low and hot in his body that he almost feels dizzy with how quickly the blood rushes south. The carrots have fifteen more minutes at least, the lasagna has twenty, and he has way less than that, so he mutters something about the bathroom before rushing through the living room like his ass was on fire.

Once locked in he leaned against the door, thanking the universe silently that the bathroom was next to the laundry room, the sound of the drying and washer going at once drowned out his gasps as he shoved his pants down mid-thigh. His cock sprung out, smearing against his belly slightly, and when he put a hand on himself he all but whimpered. He wanted to get off and get over it, but the image of Dean in his head, eyes closed with those long dark lashes on freckles cheeks, full pouty lips parted so perfectly, just enough that he could image them closing around the head of his cock, taking it slowly, looking up through those lashes at him, had the orgasm he was chasing burn slowly in persistence. But it was his brother, it was wrong, and the sick twisted part of himself got hotter at the idea that it was his little brother, was the reason he sucked on his fingers imagining Dean and brought them around to finger himself as he imagined those fucking perfect lips stretched wide over him-

He came harder than he had in weeks, so hard the breath was punched out of him and all he could make was a choked, strangled noise.

It took him at least five minutes to right himself and cool down, walking out into the kitchen like normal and calling out, "Alright, dinner!"

* * *

Sam leaving gives Dean a chance to run upstairs, getting to his room for new clothes that Sam sat on the bed.  
The room smells like the damn concoction of the older Winchester's skin and fabric softener.

He strips and jumps in the shower—Sam won't probably even notice—it's summer, people shower, it happens-  
The image of him in the mirror strikes him. Nude and spunk painting him.

He's fit, he knows. Looks pretty good, but he pretty much he knows he's a teenage twink.  
Dean can't help wondering if Sam likes twinks. But it's hard to tell. Since the only 'date' deans met was Brandy and he just looks like a blow up douche. He was cute, Dean guessed, but Sam was way out of his league.

Not that Dean can say much. Sam and he aren't even suppose to be in the same arena, and even that aside, Sam is still _way_ out of his league. Dean's still too small, not strong enough.

He'd bet though, that what he lacks in body size he can make up for with his mouth.

"Shit," he curses when he feels himself getting hard with _that_ image. Again.

* * *

When he gets down fifteen minutes later, he's whacked a new one and Sam is setting plates, perfectly and blissfully naive of his little brother making a mental porn star of him.

All seems like it's in the clear. He's able to complain about lack of protein and tease Sam like he's suppose to. He gets a nice hot bite in his mouth just when Sam leans over him for pepper and successfully blanks out and burns his mouth.

"FUCK%6€*&\--"

All things aside. Laundry day is still his favorite day.


	5. Chapter 5

A girl blows him behind the bleachers and they get caught.

 He hasn't done this for a while—the girl thing, since it's frankly a waste of time—but things are harder to ignore around the house recently and he's starting to lose control of his hormones. He goes to practice hard, but it's not taking the edge off. So when a cute blonde with hazel eyes wants to have at him, he thinks about how Sam’s eyes are hazel, better than her’s. But it'll do.

 Sam is probably going to be pissed, because Dean might not make it home after practice to beat Sam to the answering machine. He got off with a warning but if it happens again he'll get benched. Dean may be a fuck up but he won't let Sonny or Sam down for his own greedy dick. 

* * *

 Sam is juggling a brother-lusting identity crisis and a brother that got into almost more trouble than he was worth, if he wasn't worth so much.

His hands shake a little when he gets the voicemail, calls back to the office for details and listens quietly as the principle tells Sam about Dean being caught in the midst of "unsavory acts" behind the school bleachers. It was so absurd that Sam wondered vaguely if this man had ever had sex or was possibly a devout Christian, but as soon as he hung up, the principle’s voice faded away and the only image he had left was Dean leaning against some pole with a petite girl between his legs, his hands in her hair, guiding her up and down.

Fucking hell, his brother was fifteen. He knew he was trouble, _knew_ he would find out about girls, knew this probably wasn't the first, just the one that got caught, and every thought his mind had repressed surged to the surface. Dean was letting stupid high school girls touch him, when he doubted they even knew how to touch themselves, let alone Dean. He felt both overprotective and possessive, like it was his right to keep Dean—when it certainly was not.

Approaching Dean with it was dangerous, but he deleted the voicemail on the home phone, leaving it for Dean to find out when he got home to see if he could erase it. A clever trick on Dean's part, but he wasn't that hard to catch on to, he just chose not to be overbearing all the time.

So instead he does what he thinks is the dignified version of sulking and doesn't dig deeper for the reason that it bothers him so much, ignoring the tiny stupid little horn dog voice in the back of his mind screaming "you could have done better, shown him what a talented mouth can do-".

So he sets up another date with Brady, who actually sounded like he wanted to see him, and that was refreshing, and he wouldn't lie if the phone call got a little heated by the end and left him quietly gasping into the phone speaker. Phone sex, classy. He hung up and showered, trying out some new shampoo he grabbed because it was the cheapest at the grocery store that week, marked down almost criminally, and headed down to study in the living room. 

* * *

Sam’s sulking, Dean thinks. It's not sulking so much as it seems like, yea, Sam probably heard about what happened at school. And he's probably trying to find a way to tell Dean he needs to reign in the sexual activity (but really what brother wants to talk about sex lives? Sammy probably thought the worst Dean did was cop a feel of 'boobies' from time to time—surprise!! Younger Winchester is moving on up).

So Dean cautiously tiptoes in, hoping Sam doesn't see him making his way for the stairs.  He doesn't want to have safe sex talk with Sam. One, he knows, and two, he's 99% everything Sam says about sex will result in him popping a boner.

He barely makes it passed the couch when he catches a whiff in the air. It's light, sweet, but not too sweet. A little floral, but not strong. 

He doesn't think, because his body moves for him, leaning into Sam from behind the couch and pressing his nose into his hair. He must have changed shampoos. It's nuzzling, obvious and he knows it, doesn’t notice if Sam gets mad because he's too busy humming,

“Like this one, Sammy....smells like spring.”

Sam doesn't push him away so Dean’s work-rough hands join the mix, tugging Sam’s hair back as he combs it, letting dean hold him there. If he weren't so busy feeling his heart jack hammer at how _unbrotherly_ he's being, he'd be turned on at how almost _obedient_ Sam is to Dean’s will.

He loves touching Sam. Loves it. Never does it. Not like this. Usually he has to play macho younger brother that bats and punches at Sam—but this is different. This is _good_. Dean doesn't know if Sam’s too shocked to resist or if he's enjoying it too much, but he lets his head move the way Dean wants it, his fingers joining in to make Sam’s eyes flutter closed at the sensation.

He can't help it. That girl was like all the others and didn't help him. _This_ is the feeling he's always chasing.

Dean parts his lips, dragging them behind Sammy's ear before letting his teeth graze the shell. His tongue wants to stick out, to taste just a little. For a moment dean doesn't feel younger. Doesn't feel like a child. Everything feels like…Sam is a man, and Dean is too. And it feels a little warm and a little scary that they are all alone in this big house.

He's so hard, needs so much right now. He wants Sam to do something about it but...

The logic switch is powered back on and dean becomes very aware of what he's doing and Sam is very still, obviously felt what Dean just did. Sam can't know. He wants so bad but Sam can't know. So he pulled away, messing up SAMs clean hair with a soft laugh, shooting for nonchalance. The ‘fake it ‘till you make it’ kind.

"You always buy such girly shampoo,” Dean pulled away completely, fighting his intense want to keep touching Sam like he's _Sam_ , not like they are brothers.

"Shut up, jerk," Sam replied, his voice strange, a little weak, "Some people care about personal hygiene, not that you would know.”

"Whatever, bitch,” Dean snorted.

Inside though, he was humming. Touching like that was new. It was...it was amazing. The best feeling he could remember having. Better than that girl behind the bleachers and it hadn't even been dirty. Just...touching Sam. Really touching him.

* * *

The thing with the school never gets brought up. Frankly Dean is way cool with that, and that itch he has he's found can be sedated at least little if he touches Sam.

So he does. After that, over the course of the next week Dean finds himself casually touching Sam every chance he gets. 

Sam doing dishes? Dean will walk by and brush by maybe closer than usual. 

Pass dean a glass? He'd over reach to touch Sam’s hand. Even humming happily when he gets to catch Sam’s shampoo. He likes it, and Sam uses it and somehow it feels good to him.

None of it was absolutely obvious but Dean had never realized how much he enjoyed the contact. A part of him was really in denial about that aspect of him—he never considered himself the type to want to hold hands or, god forbid, cuddle. But damn, anything from Sam, any of that, he was dying for. The more he thought about it the more he wanted it. At school he had stopped chasing ass because his new hunger wasn't being met with petite blondes.

It was Sam. Sam’s body heat, his skin, his smell—the only sensory he missed and would never have was Sam’s taste.

It was crazy. He thought maybe that's what was so hollow about these girls. Maybe Dean really did want contact, intimacy or whatever—but it was all the wrong source. Blow jobs weren’t comparing to just leaning into Sam when he was close.

For a couple weeks it was great. It even helped take the edge off the tension he was feeling before. Dean was back to hanging around the house when Sam was off work- Benny finding it strange that he was skipping video game days to stay home-- but dean wanted every chance he could get to feel Sam again.

It was a guilty pleasure, a rush. Feeling his heart jack hammer, he could end up grinning all day if he touched Sam just right. Sometimes he'd imagine seeing his older brother flush, but mostly he chalked it up to just how bad he wanted Sam to feel how he felt when he would let his arm rest along the back of the couch and softly rub SAMs nape with his thumb.

So, when one day he gets home from school and he leans down to spook his nerd of a brother from some article he's reviewing, he stops realizing Sam smells different.

"You changed shampoo? Why?" He knows they aren’t out, he saw the whole bottle on the edge of the bath tub, somehow it makes him frown.

"Yeah, I got tired of it, you know?" Sam tried to brush it off with a shrug, but his shoulders were stiff, "You were right, it smells girly. People don't seem to like that on men above six foot.”

People?

"You mean Brady,” Dean said without thinking. It wasn’t a question 

It stings, sets his blood boiling. Why does Brady's opinion matter more than Dean’s? Dean _liked_ that smell on Sam. Brady could go suck a limp dick.

That wasn’t what mattered though, whether Sam meant it or not, Dean sees priority in that. 

“Whatever," It sounded bitter, but he can't find it in him to give a shit. He's too busy feeling jilted that _sure_ he can't have Sam the way he wants, but he can't even have something so insignificantly small as stupid shampoo. He's that fucked up and low on the totem poll.

So he does what any self respecting teenager does. He doesn't say anything. He makes himself a crappy bologna and mustard sandwich, tells Sam he doesn't want dinner and locks himself in his room to stew in his shitty teenage angst over his shitty fixation on his older brother.

* * *

Sam was in a bit of a panic mode. After their little shampoo escapade, Sam found himself increasingly aware of how much Dean touched him.

He couldn't avoid it either, it was like Dean found him at every turn, seemed to smile wider when Sam flushed—something he was trying his hardest to hide, goddammit it. He couldn't figure out if Dean knew or if he just though Sam was being a little bitch about it.

He shouldn't be feeling this. He shouldn't feel like the most natural thing to do when his little brother slides his lips again his ear was to close his eyes and enjoy it. He shouldn't want to savor each touch, each brush of Dean's fingers to his waist, his arm, his back, anywhere. There was something comforting about it, and the ease with which he could accept it scared him.

Drastic times called for drastic measures.

And yet he couldn't just shun Dean, so he did what any sensible perverted older brother would do and switched shampoos, like that would deter Dean from touching him. Of course, Dean noticed and now Sam was caught somewhere between apologetic and relieved.

Then Dean stops talking to him.

Maybe not completely, but it felt like the only time they spoke was when it was necessary.

Sam figures it would pass, even though it made his stomach churn. He set up a date with Brady for the next , thinking maybe that might take his mind off of it. For a moment he wondered why he was even dating him. He was nice enough, he was sure they could have some good sex, and really was that all he wanted? He had an inkling that Brady might feel exactly that, because he didn't seem that into anything about Sam specifically.

Sam didn't care enough to tell him off, considering he was probably just using him as a distraction from his little brother, so he won in the 'who is more fucked up?' category.

He goes to Dean's match, genuinely thrilled when Dean wins, heads up to congratulate him and thank Sonny again. It was good, Dean seemed just as happy as he did, but as soon as people started to disperse, Dean told him he wasn't going to come home, he was going with the team. Sam tried not to be hurt, just smiled and sent him off.

He shouldn't expect Dean to want to come home and celebrate with bad movies and popcorn every time. He's growing up, maybe he's starting to realize there's more to hanging out with his older brother all the time.

Sam wishes that didn't sting.

* * *

Dean talk much to Sam the next few days. It's a lot of one word answers and trying not to be home. He hangs out at Benny's and he stays late for practice. They have a match and he wins, but he doesn't go home with Sam that night, he stays with the team and comes back in the morning tired and still upset but knows he can't say why.

Basically he's moody trash. 

But when he overhears Brandy the rent-a-douche is coming by to pick up Sam for dinner plans or something equally aggravating, Dean has a plan.

Said plan is: if he can't scare Brady off, he'll seduce him. 

It's a Thursday, and Dean rushed home after practice, barely saying a word to Sam as he bolted up the stairs full speed to get in the shower. It's all about entrance, he's decided. Guys are guys, and if this one doesn't consider Dean after this stunt, then he's not really gay and Sam needs to find a new chump.

He showers and cleans off the filth, making sure to use the expensive shampoo that makes him smell good. And just because he's still petty and pissed, he pours out what's left of the other shampoo Sam’s been using, bland smelling suds washing down the drain.

* * *

"Sam, have you seen my ACDC shirt?"

Sam thought Dean was ignoring him or in a mood or whatever, but the evening his date arrives, Dean looks more motivated than he's seen in a while. When Dean walks down the stairs in only a towel after Sam let Brady in with the promise that they'll leave in a minute, he suddenly knows why. 

The little shit had only a towel wrapped around his waist, and it was one of their cheap small ones that barely worked to hide anything. Dean could bend over and-

No, not thinking about that.

"I washed it, it's probably hanging up in your closet," Sam said tersely, keeping his eyes strictly above collarbone level.

He glances at Brady and freezes. There he was, standing trying not to ogle his _brother_ while his date does exactly what he was restraining. He knew that look, Brady was eyeing Dean up like a piece of meat he wanted to devour and a million little red flags went off in his head.

No, Brady was not staying. At least not where he could get to Dean.

"Ok, we're going now," Sam said tightly, standing and all but pushing Brady out of the door before he could so much as say a word.

"You make eyes at my little brother again and I'll punch your teeth in," Sam growled when they were outside, Brady only grinning.

"Protective?" he asked, leaning in the nip at Sam's neck, "What if we just skip dinner this time. I have food at my place."

"Fine," Sam answered, jaw still set rigid, but it didn't seem to phase Brady as they got in his car.

So maybe he was going to angrily get laid. Anything to keep the cut of Dean's hips out of his mind. He leans back in the passenger seat and lets Brady feel him up across the center console on their way back to his place.

* * *

Sam comes home from Brady's feeling just as high strung as before, maybe worse. He wants to punch something or make out furiously. It wasn't that Brady was a lousy lay, but he was a lot more talk then he was worth. And then there was Dean, sitting on the couch in boxers and that damn AC/DC shirt and all he wants is to ride his brother in oblivion because he definitely thought about Dean when he came, except that wasn't socially acceptable, so instead he grunts a "go to bed" at his brother before stomping up the stairs and taking refuge in his room.

He locks his door and spends another two hours riding a fake plastic dildo on his bed, closing his eyes and letting every wrong feeling and image flood his mind, Dean's voice in his mind, against the shell of his ear when he tells him he likes how his hair smells.

If he comes entirely from images of Dean then fine, it's the only thing that left him sated and throbbing.

He showers the rest of the worries away.

* * *

Plan failed.

Plan failed and Sam doesn't come home for more than a few hours.

He's not going to cry, or vomit. His stomach is reeling and head hurting thinking about all the implications. In true jealous never-going-to-have-a-chance form, he parks his ass in the living room and waits. Hopes Sam won't stay all night for whatever.

In the end, Dean throws up and goes to sleep brimmed in tears and shame and agony. Why can't he be happy for Sam? Why can't he be normal? If they were normal brothers and dean wasn't fucked up- would he be happy right now? Would sam be able to get a decent boyfriend instead of some prick that gets to fuck Sam because he's the only one that isn't scared off by Dean. 

He hates himself more then he ever has before, and his stomach feels sick. Feels sick unable to sleep, thinking about how they must have kissed like that day at the door. About how Sam probably turned pink and moaned soft, about how he doesn't want to think about Sam that way. Not with anyone else. Not Sam touching his chest, about the slide of his skin- about how he can't unsee with his imagination as Brady gets Sam to cling to him, taste him, fuck him close and hot. 

Sam catching a cab back after his hair has been pulled and throat marked.  Sam coming home, probably pissed at Dean and not Brady.  Brady probably gave Sam everything he wanted that Dean can only think about.  Because he's just the stupid kid brother.

"You can stop worrying about, Brady," Sam says the next morning as a form of greeting, Dean walking down the stairs, sleep deprived. Sam had made breakfast; bacon, eggs, the whole shebang.

Dean hasn't slept. At first his heart stops, wondering if Sam heard him last night, if Sam found out about why Dean was interfering. This wasn't the 'Brady gives me everything I want' that he was expecting.

"I'm not going to see him anymore," Sam added as explanation, too calm, taking a sip of his coffee and sighing like the only good thing was the caffeinated liquid in his mug.

He wants to grin, to be happy. He can’t. He's too busy wondering if Sam will always be alone just because he can't be a good fucking brother. If he'll always just have casual ass holes not worthy of him touching him because that's all that can stomach Dean’s crazed dependency on Sam.  Instead, all he does is nod, not sure if he can lie and say sorry, but not trust that he's happy. He's not happy.

They sit down and eat in relative silence.

Dean is tired, just so tired, and his stomach aches. He just eats eggs and toast, unable to hold eye contact with Sam.

* * *

They have an away match—far enough that the team rents motel rooms to stay the night. They're in tournament brackets now, by the end of the season they may win state.

Sam has work and class. Dean has been relatively calm and quiet the last week or so. He knows it's weird but he figures he owes Sam something. But even Benny is weirded out by his solemn attitude. It’s atypical, to say the least. He still just can’t really muster up anything else.

The trip is going to blow, he's under no illusion. At least Sam can get a break from him and maybe he can find a temporary distraction for the next three days.

 

Distraction’s name is ironically Samantha, from the girl’s volleyball team at the rival school. She’s pretty, tall—which she tells dean isn't so good for girls. Guys don't like tall girls.

"I like tall," he grins smoothly and watches her turn rosy pink. She has hazel eyes, more blue in them than his favorite pair but that's not what he's here for. He's not here to think about Sam.

They hang out the first day. She shows him where the best ice cream is and where to catch a cheap movie. She likes cheesy, artsy romcoms. Just like Sam.

Samantha’s smart too. She tells dean she's interested in logic and philosophy. Dean’s seen logic books of Sam’s laying around—like Math and English and Science had a bastard baby. The stuff isn't fun to look at—but she likes it. 

She likes to kiss, and likes how Dean runs his hands through her hair. He refuses to think about where that desire is seeded from.

He sneaks out the second night and they end up pressed close. Her parents are asleep and she helps him through her window.

Samantha is the first girl he ever sleeps with.

She has a small chest, cute breasts, like plums, pert and pink when he kisses down them. They strip down and he runs his hands over her in the dark, unable to see much. He slips between her legs and makes her shake with his mouth, makes her beg.

He's been getting blow jobs and handys since he was fourteen—but this is different. He’s a teenager, getting hard isn't a problem. The right rub on a couch was enough friction.

She sounds so soft, everything is so perfect, only it's not. This is to get over Sam, but when he sinks into her and looks down at her body, legs wrapped around his waist, it's easy to see her as him. Long, tall and slender, hazel eyes and small chest. She's not bulky enough, not masculine enough but his mind runs with it. She's still beautiful but she's not _him_.

Dean rocks them, hands sliding back into her hair as he bends down, panting. She's tight and hot around him, and if he just closes his eyes, it's perfect.

"Sam," he whispers into her neck as he fucks harder. It's a guilty accidental slip, that shouldn't have come out.

"Dean-" she gasps back.

It dawns on him fully that he can say Sam’s name and she won't know, she won't know where he's at or anything. This is the closest hell ever get.

So he takes.

Dean runs his hands over her moaning low and eyes tight. He'll feel bad later but for now he needs this.

"Sam, Sam, Sam—” he begs, leaning back and pulling her onto his lap.

She _is_ taller than him and has to curl around him and moan and whimper as he fucks her deep and purposeful. Her hair falls over his shoulder and he wants to cry.

“Sam—" his voice wavers, arms wrapping tight. She comes that way but he won't let go, touching her everywhere, licking and kissing her shoulder as his rhythm stutters, catching her deep. 

His eyes clamp shut as he pretends. Pretends it was love. That it was Sam. Sam riding him and clawing down his back, writhing on his lap.  His hands fist in her hair, kissing her with everything he has till they can't breath. Kissing her like he dreams of kissing his beloved older brother every night. Every moment.

When he comes, he cries the only word he'll never get sick of. 

“ _Sam_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modification of an rp we (alyxrush & succulent-sam on tumblr) started and decided we liked it so much- why not make it a fic??
> 
> So we did, and a lot of it is already written and EVERYTHING is planned, so now we're editing our responses into coherent fic-format. So stay tuned!
> 
> We'll put warning in the notes in the beginnings of any chapters that contain any of the mentioned warning (like the side character death at the beginning of this chapter, and the non-con elements, which is a part of a much later chapter and not between Sam & Dean).
> 
> Comments and thoughts are appreciated!


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